Skip to main content

Full text of "Chestnut Burr, 1976"

See other formats

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2011 with funding from 

LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation 

Chestnut Burr 1976 
Volume 62 
Copyright 1976 
Kent State University 
Kent, Ohio 

Table of contents 

A Day at KSU 6 

Yesterdays of Kent and KSU 20 

Making a home 32 

Freshmen: first impressions 38 

Seniors: last impressions 40 

A dropout's alienation 42 

Alumni turned townies 44 

Homecoming 1975 46 

What do administrators do all day? 52 

Black Homecoming 56 

Halloween 58 

Society for Creative Anachronism 60 

Revolutionary Student Brigade 62 

Religious lifestyles 64 

Greeks 70 

Commuters 78 

People 82 

Is college worth your money? 88 

Learning by working 90 

Careers: crossing sex barriers 100 

John Gray 104 

Have Pie, Will Travel 106 

African Liberation School 108 

Two professors / two views 112 

Psychic research 114 

Professing the future 116 

Making it / spending it 122 

Inflation-fighting gardens 128 

Culture 130 

Culture gallery 144 

May 4 152 

Crime 156 

After hours at KSU 164 

Liquor 170 

Games 174 

Fashion 178 

Bicycling 184 

Sports 186 

Intramurals 188 

Intercollegiates 218 

Seniors 234 

Calendar 276 

Scores 286 

Organizations 288 

Staff 290 

Parting shots 294 

Photo credits 303 

The 1976 Chestnut Burr was printed in an edition of 6.00 copies, 9 by 12 
inches, 304 pages, on 80 lb. Mead Offset Enamel Dull, manufactured by the 
Mead Paper Corp. of Dayton, O., in black ink. The endsheets are 65 lb. Solid 
Color Antique Cover, Driftwood Tan, manufactured by the Hammermill Paper 
Co., Erie, Pa. Cover material is Riverside Linen RL 3925, manufactured by 
Columbia Mills, Minetto, N.Y. 

The 1976 Chestnut Burr was printed by the H / J Keller Division of the 
Carnation Company at its plant in Gettysburg, Pa. The cover was silk- 
screened in PMS 456, embossed and cased over 160 pt. binders board by 
Herff Jones Cover Division in Montgomery, Ala. 

Type style is Helvetica, headlines are 30 pt., subheads are 14 pt., body type 
is 10pt. and 8 pt.; typesetting by H / J Keller. 

Senior portraits were furnished by Delma Studios, 225 Park Avenue South, 
New York, NY, 10003. 

Dr. Fred Endres, Richard Bentley. Greg Moore and Frank Ritzinger; J-otfice 
staff Margaret Brown, Becky Dunlap and Helen Stanton; Les Stegh and Jim 
Geary, University Archives; Terry Barnard, Sports Information; The Daily Kent 
Stater; Kent State University Police Department; Jon Harper, coordinator of 
operations, Student Center; Loft Pizza and Brown Derby Kent. 

Special thanks also to Bill Synk for assistance with the photographs in the 
history section, Diane Adrine for the "Black Homecoming" section, Pat 
Paolucci for "Professing the future" and Cheryl Ragan. 

Special Friends: Linda Radgowski. Leslie Burkhart, Becky Browne, Son, 
Wulfie, Genny, Chester, Nancy Lee. Pope, Phil and Ma. 

And thanks to all of you who purchased the 1976 Chestnut Burr. 
Comments are welcome by the editors, Chestnut Burr, 101 Taylor Hall 
O., 44242 


Chestnut Burr logo designed by Cherie Banks. 

Our sincerest thanks to J. Charles Walker and Glyphix for furnishing the 
1976 Chestnut Burr with its art directors. 

Special thanks to: John Urian, Raymond Tait, Tom Rees and John Sullivan of 
H / J Keller; Sam Fields, Gerald Schnieder and Bob Herz of Delma Studios; 
Student Publications Policy Committee; Doug Moore and Les Weaver, 
University News Service; Paul Mosher, purchasing agent; Dr. Richard 
Bredemeier, dean for Student Life; Warren Graves, student accounts 
coordinator; Dr. Murvin Perry, director School of Journalism; J-school faculty 


7 ^6-l9l fe 

10 8 75 

A day at KSU 

In the sunrise shadow of Dix Stadium a commuter rushes to board 
the 7:12 a.m. Stadium Loop bus. A few minutes later the bus rolls 
down a hill at 45 m.p.h., the first of 80 trips it will complete that 
day. Aboard it are 14 of the 20,000 students enrolled on the Kent 
campus of KSU fall quarter. Behind the bus the sun gains height 
in the sky, burning away the mist in the low spots of the terrain. 

The story of one day at KSU has begun. 

Wednesday, Oct. 8, 1975 more than two dozen photographers set 
out to capture the essence of that day on film for the Chestnut 
Burr. Forty-six of the 7,200 photographs they took are presented 
here. These photographs are personal glimpses of moments 
which occurred. We feel it is moments such as these which made 
that day different from, yet similar to, every other day at KSU. 

This page, top left, the sun peaks through clouds as the day begins; bottom 
left, at 7:15 a maintenance man is already at work; right, maids are in the 
halls; opposite, maids on their way to work; bottom, the grass needs 


Opposite page, morning routines; this page, top, waitress Sara Dilgrin takes 

a breakfast order at Jerry's Diner; bottom left, breakfast at Captain Brady's; 

right, students crowd the walkways on their way to morning classes. 

This page, top left, Tom Shaw clips a parking ticket and a driver; top right, Lou Erdman, theatre professor, 
gets clipped too; middle left, the rush to classes continues by foot; middle right, and wheel; bottom right, 

a cat is dissected in biology class 

Opposite page, top left, Margie Mullins takes a sandwich break; top right, martial arts students work out; 

middle left, Patrolman Rice ponders an open manhole on the Commons; middle right, we quote the 

KSU marching band: "One. two, eat SHIT!" bottom right, students line up to pay in the Student 

Center Snack Bar. 




■ Pi% 

' .'■'"-"' 




This page, top left. Kitty Turner sits in the Black United Students 

office under a portrait of Malcolm X; top right, a heavy day in the 

weight room of the Quad Area; middle left, a little monkey business 

in the psychology lab; bottom left, mass in the Newman center; 

bottom right, a pillow that had caught fire was thrown into a 

Stopher Hall shower. 


This page, top left, a tennis class near Tri-Towers; top right, Wills Gym-nasties: 
a beginning modern dance class warms up; middle, in a Life Drawing I class, 
students sketch a nude model; bottom, an Air Force ROTC class. 



Opposite page, top left, an afternoon football game on the Commons: top right, at the Health Center students suck on thermometers as 
they wait to see doctors; middle, a weather forecaster tells why it was a cloudy day; bottom left, Pete Robison, a grad assistant, shapes 

glass in a downtown warehouse; bottom right, bicyclists whiz by the Health Center. 

This page, top left, a solitary piano player and his cigarette are caught in a spotlight in Munzenmayer Hall; top right, toking on the 
fourth floor of Stopher; bottom, at 10 p.m. Laura Sestokas gives the CBS buses their daily bath at the bus garage. 


This page, top right, Stater staffers put in long hours at the copy desk; top left, balancing glasses at the Rathskeller; 
middle left, dancing at the Water Street Saloon; bottom, a silhouetted student crosses the rain-slicked plaza toward 
the library; opposite page, a couple sidesteps puddles on Water Street at midnight. Tomorrow is another day. 




Stories from the past 
of Kent and KSU 

Christian Cackler would never believe it. 

Nor would Samuel Brady, John Haymaker, John Brown or 
Marvin Kent. Or Frank Merrill, David Rockwell or John 

When Christian filed the first lawsuit in these parts in the 
early 1800's because his wandering geese were killed by an 
irate neighbor, he probably never dreamed the farm hamlet 
of Franklin Mills would one day become the city of Kent with 
a population of 28,000. 

And when Capt. Brady, to escape some fractious Indians, 
made his fabled 22-foot leap east over the Cuyahoga River in 
1796, he couldn't envision the Main Street Bridge that would 
make the trip less troublesome only ten years later. 

John Haymaker, who bought the first land in Franklin 
Township for 12V 2 cents an acre, couldn't imagine the 
canals, railroads, trolley cars and automobiles that would 
eventually traverse it. 


Opposite page, top, view west across the river about 
1867. The railroad will replace the canal lock within a 
year, and the present stone Main Street Bridge will be 
built in 1876. (University Archives, Art Troy Collection) 

Bottom, view down South Water Street, about 1890. Frank 
W. Cone Dry Good Store pictured is now Thompson 
Drugs. (University Archives, Trory Collection) 

This page, top, trolley, left is about to turn north onto 
Water Street. The horse watering trough at the Main and 
Water Street intersection was removed in 1919. 
(University Archives, Art Trory Collection) 

Bottom, candy, cigars, film, or a refreshing soda are all 
available at Donaghy's Drug Store in 1918. (Kent State 
University American History Research Center, Dick 
Donaghy Collection) 

And John Brown, later of Harper's Ferry fame, whose 
tannery in Franklin Mills quickly went out of business, 
couldn't peek ahead to see the various industries — a chain 
works, an umbrella factory, celery and onion farms, mills, a 
pickle processor — in the village's future. 

Marvin Kent wouldn't have believed that his pet project, 
bringing a railroad to Franklin Mills, would one day evolve 
into dozens of automobiles lined up for interminable periods, 
their exhaust-choked occupants waiting at the crossing for 
the inevitable train. 

Merrill, Rockwell and McGilvrey, viewing the two unfinished 
buildings, handful of students and 70 briar-laden acres of the 
Kent Normal School in 1913, would probably be 
overwhelmed by the 97 buildings, 18,000 students and 
sprawling 2,265 acres of today's KSU. 

None of these phantoms from Kent's past would believe the 
changes that have occurred. 

It's been a long road. 


Franklin Mills, named for the township and the flour and 
sawmills built along the Cuyahoga River, was just a few 
scattered houses along the Ravenna-Stow road in the early 
1800's. The village anxiously awaited a financial boom when 
plans for the establishment of a silk mill became reality. Mills 
were built and mulberry trees for feeding the silkworms were 
planted. But the uncooperative little caterpillars who were 
supposed to munch those mulberry leaves and produce silk 
fiber instead died, ending the village's first attempt at 

So Zenas Kent's grand brick block on the corner of Main and 
North Water streets was left vacant, except for a few cows 
who occasionally took refuge from the rain in the hotel. 

The village got another chance at commerce when the 
Pennsylvania and Ohio Canal was built parallel to the river 
around 1836. Farmers could ship out goods and merchants 
could bring in goods via the Akron to Cleveland to Pittsburgh 
route. Travellers stayed overnight at Franklin Mills' inns or 
the hotel — cowless now — or guzzled a drink at a Water 
Street saloon while their canal boat waited its turn at the 


Opposite page, first four buildings on campus, 1915. Science (Kent) Hall, right, is 
nearing completion. Administration Building is in center and Merrill and Lowry Halls 
are at left. (University Archives) 

This page, top, College Book Store, where Campus Supply stands; bottom, summer 
school assembly hall, 1915, known as the "Pavilion " It contained all the students 
while building interiors were being completed. (University Archives) 

locks near the bridge. 

Canal men like 'Pod' Moore, who could bend a silver dollar 
with his fingers, passed through and left behind their stories. 

Moore, 6 feet 10, once single-handedly cleaned up on the 
crews of three other boats when one fool jeered, "Hey, Fat 

More important to the town's growth than the canal was the 
building of the railroad that linked Franklin Mills to the 
outside world. During the Civil War, Marvin Kent took the 

reins of leadership from his Father Zenas and persuaded the 
Atlantic and Great Western Railroad to run a trunk line 
through the village in 1863. Marvin even instigated building 
the line's repair shops here, which created a large and 
lasting employer for residents. Growth of business and 
industry spurted and a grateful citizenry named the town in 
honor of Zenas four years later. 

By the 1870's and 80's the town began to modernize. The 
village dentist announced his acquisition of 'laughing gas' 
for painless tooth extraction. Jennie Lind appeared at the 


town hall for a single performance. Two street lights were 
installed in the covered wooden Main Street bridge, which 
was replaced by the present stone structure in 1877. 
Professor Leon, a travelling showman, treated residents to a 
death-defying tightrope walk across the Cuyahoga as part of 
one July 4th celebration. The wandering cow ordinance of 
1880, also applicable to horses and swine, effectively kept 
untended stock from the streets. The first electric lights 
flickered on here in 1887, with telephone service beginning 
shortly after. A trolley ride to Ravenna cost 10 cents, to 
Akron, 20 cents. 

At the turn of the century Kent was well on its way to 
becoming a city. In 1901, P. N. Eigner took a drive in the 
town's first car. I. D. Tuttle brought in the second car and 
almost immediately drove into a ditch — Kent's first auto 
wreck. More horseless carriages prompted Kent's first speed 
ordinance: an 8 mile per hour limit in the business section, 
and 15 mph allowed in residential areas. North Water was 
paved in 1903. 

In 1911, Calbrarth P. Rogers gave citizens a thrill: Their first 
glimpse of an airplane. Entering in royal style, Rogers 


Opposite page, top. formality is the rule in the Lowry Hall 
dining room; bottom, home economics students practice 
their skills in a Kent Hall kitchen classroom, 1916. 
(University Archives) 

This page, top, skaters sweep snow off Blackbird Lake 
(where Wills Gym stands), a frog pond in summer and the 
school skating rink in winter; bottom, parking is no 
problem, as Professor Van Deusen, one of KSU's first 
faculty members, stops his buggy in front of Kent Hall. 
(University Archives) 

zoomed along the river and just cleared the Main Street 
bridge. He landed nearby and his stopover here on his 
attempted first transcontinental flight made national news. So 
did his demise a year later when his engine stopped cold 250 
feet over a field. 

But perhaps the greatest impact on the community was the 
state's choice of Kent as the site for a teacher training 
school. The town fathers, realizing the potential benefits of 
such an institution, did some politicking and steered the site 
selection committee away from Ravenna, a competitor, with a 

hot meal and a hard sell. Kent won over 19 other sites, and 
Kent Normal School came into existence in 1910. 

Classes were offered at 20 extension centers almost 
immediately while Lowry and Merrill Halls were under 
construction on the 54-acre, tree-choked tract donated by 
William S. Kent, son of Marvin. President John McGilvrey had 
his hands full when the infant school opened its doors for 
summer training in 1913. 

The first student arrived a day early; the plaster in the 
dormitory wasn't dry, nor was the furniture unpacked. The 


young lady spent that night sleeping on a mattress on the 
floor of a bare room, wrapped in blankets provided by a 
faculty member's wife. The next morning arriving students 
flocked to the dining hall, where they were served breakfast 
on dishes borrowed from the Congregational Church. No 
equipment for classes had arrived; no book lists were 
available; crates littered the lawns. Faculty and students alike 
searched for lodgings. President McGilvrey was ill with 
typhoid. His assistant, Dean John T. Johnson, somehow 
managed to get the 47 students of that first summer session 
registered and assembled for classes. 

Growth of the school was at once phenomenal. The second 
summer session 290 students were enrolled. The following 
autumn 130 women and 6 men, who lived in town, began 
their year of teacher training. The next summer a huge tent 
for classes and assemblies was erected at the bottom of the 
hill; when this proved insufficient to assemble 1,400 students, 
four circus tents went up on the hill. 

The students of those first years enjoyed swimming at the 
Brady Lake resort, ice skating on Blackbird Pond (where 
Wills Gym now stands), playing on the "Normal Nine" 


Opposite page, classis in a circus tent, summer 1914 Classroom 
buildings were not yet completed. (Universtiy Archives) 

This page, top, women sharpen their aims In a 1926 archery class; 
bottom, the "Normal Nine" baseball team with its coach, school 
custodian Alex Whyte, 1914, (University Archives) 


baseball team, or singing along to the two pianos or the 
Edison disc phonograph the trustees had obtained. 

Soon two other buildings, Kent Hall and the Administration 
Building, stood beside Lowry and Merrill Halls on 'Normal 
Hill.' Lowry housed 70 women and Merrill was the first 
classroom building. Kent Hall was used for agriculture and 
teacher training classes. And the Administration Building, 
besides the auditorium and library, contained a large room 
used as a gym. 

Between 1915 and 1926, the heating plant, Rockwell Library, 

an addition to the Administration Building and the Moulton 
dorm were built to accomodate the influx of students 
attracted to Kent Normal by the school's low cost. There 
were no instructional fees. A student could attend both 
summer sessions for about $60. The dorm offered room and 
board at $4 a week. 

The first fees were assessed in fall of 1917, when each 
student paid a $1 per quarter activity fee. In the 1920's a $5 
per quarter instructional fee was instituted, and the first out- 
of-state fees in 1922. 


The women of Lowry and Moulton Halls around 1920 could 
entertain men in the parlors until 10 p.m. on Friday and 
Saturday, 9:30 p.m. on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. 
Women could not be out of the dorms after 7:30 p.m. and 
automobile rides were restricted to daylight hours. Of course, 
no couple could go motoring alone; a second young lady 
had to accompany them. On a double date, a single girl was 
sufficient to keep an eye on everyone. 

Lights went out at 10:10 p.m. and rooms were inspected at 9 
a.m. daily, except weekends. No smoking or liquor was 

permitted. Classes started at 7:20 a.m. 

Students still found time, amid their psychology of education 
or home economics or chemistry classes, to participate in 
other activities. The first fraternity, Kappa Mu Kappa, was 
established in 1923. Student government came soon after. 
Literary, dramatic and craft clubs were founded. A 
newspaper, yearbook and literary magazine were published. 

The school's athletic record was at first unimpressive. In 
1915, Normal's basketball team met with defeat in its first 



Top photos. Main Street looking 
east from Water Street, 1927. 
Bottom photos, Main Street looking 
west from Depeyster Street, 1927. 
(University Archives) 

intercollegiate game, 56-5 disaster with Otterbein before 200 
loyal fans in the Administration Building. After dropping a 54- 
18 decision to Muskingum in its next outing, the team 
cancelled the rest of its schedule. The following year the 
cagers fought to a 48-1 loss to Hiram and an 0-7 record 
before winning their first game, a 27-17 victory over Ashland. 

The football squad fared little better. After two scrimmages 
with local high school teams in 1914, the whole idea was 
abandoned for six years. The Silver Foxes, named for 
President McGilvrey's silver fox farm, then ran up a 39-game 

losing streak before beating West Liberty, 7-6, at 1925's 
Homecoming. Notable defeats on the Front Campus gridiron 
were to Baldwin-Wallace, 118-0, and Slippery Rock, 82-0 
(both in 1923). 

Soon the Depression engulfed the nation. But Kent Normal, 
named a state college in 1929, held its own. Now conferring 
bachelor's degrees in its liberal arts school, and with many 
high school graduates turning to college rather than looking 
for scarce jobs, KSU's fulltime enrollment doubled by 1932. 
Two thousand students were enrolled by 1935. In 1938, Kent 



College became Kent State University. 

During the Depression the young school almost became an 
insane asylum. The state legislature proposed converting the 
teacher training college to a hospital for the mentally ill. The 
Depression had turned teachers out on the streets, too, and 
the governing body saw no need to train more unemployable 

An inspection committee visited the campus in 1933, and 
pronounced its buildings perfectly suitable. However, the 
proposal didn't make it through the legislature. 

The post-Depression building freeze thawed in the mid- 
thirties and a new dormitory was constructed. Engleman Hall 
opened in 1937. A new science building, McGilvrey Hall, 
followed and by 1941 new athletic fields occupied the old 
Normal Farm site. 

World War II intervened. Enrollment dropped and those who 
did remain, mostly women, took courses in camouflage and 
Morse Code. One hundred thirteen students and alumni died 
in the war. 


Opposite page, top, hundreds of students rode the trains into town to begin 
classes at Kent Normal School; bottom, Prentice Memorial Gate, dedicated 
1935, was named for May H. Prentice, first woman faculty member and first 
director of the Kent Normal teacher training school. (University Archives) 

This page, aerial view from town looking east over campus, mid-50's. (KSU 
News Service) 

By 1945 enrollment had slumped to 1,300, but returning vets 
were soon to crowd campuses courtesy of the G.I. Bill. By 
the 1950's more than 7,500 students were on campus. 

The University was bursting at the seams. It had swelled to 
30 departments, 400 faculty and 33 buildings, many of them 
pre-fab war surplus structures. The first men's dorm, Stopher 
Hall, opened in 1948, with Memorial Gym and an industrial 
arts complex (Van Deusen Hall) soon following. 

Students then, as now, fought for parking places and 

housing. Terrace Hall opened to 750 women in 1954, with 
Verder, Johnson, Prentice and Dunbar completed by 1960. 
The Music and Speech complex sprang up, and dorms and 
classrooms mushroomed everywhere through the mid-sixties 

By the early 1970's the new library, science and Student 
Center complexes completed the campus as we know it. 

No, Christian Cackler would never believe it. 

Story by Laura Nagy 


Making it home, 
off campus or on 

A large university can be impersonal. Overcoming the 
computerized anonymity can take a lot of effort. Some 
students find or create unusual home environments; others 
are thrown into bizarre situations. 

Gabe Laubacher lives in an apartment above Tinker Funeral 
Home. He said it's not as morbid as it sounds. "Guys often 
think it's strange. The girls usually don't think anything of it." 

Gabe works part time making burial vaults with his father, so 
he is no stranger to the funeral business. "Sometimes I help 
the Tinkers by picking up bodies or by driving cars in 
funerals. But other than that it's no different living here than 
in other places, except it's quieter. My room is right over the 
embalming room, but I never give it a second thought." 

Dan Goldfarb lives in a cupola at 508 Fairchild Ave. At one 
end he's built a wooden platform which divides the room into 
two levels. He said he's put a lot of work into creating an 
environment in which he can feel at home. 

"I like my space. More people are beginning to realize that's 
what's important. They're beginning to appreciate their living 

"The day of the tie-dyes and the peace posters is gone. It's 
up to the individual now to make choices when putting 
together a place. It becomes harder, but everybody's 
personality really comes out." 

Amy Burt and Nellie Conway live at 311 Franklin Ave. - in a 
house with no right angles. The rooms are trapezoidal, the 
floors and ceilings are slanted and the door frames are 

"I think it was built without a plan. We had to build crooked 
bookcases and had trouble fitting square carpet in the living 
room," Amy said. 

The high cost of living in Kent has driven many students to 
outlying towns where rent is lower. Two students and two 
former students live with five dogs, a bird and a cat in what 
used to be Brady Lake Fire House. 

Dan Burt said the siren still goes off in their house every 
night at 9 p.m. and every time there is a fire, even though the 
Brady Lake Volunteer Fire Department moved to a new 
station two months ago. 

"Two or three times a year the firemen practice putting out 
burning cars in our parking lot. They run around the building 
a couple times and put them out. The Captain Brady Day 
parade starts in our parking lot every year. Eight o'clock in 
the morning, drums and cymbals outside our window." 

Linda Lazarri and Maggie Stouthammer, who live outside 
Brady Lake, do not have running water but pay only $25 rent 
per month. 

"It's an inconvenience. We have 75-pound water jugs we fill 
at gas stations and friends' houses," Linda said, "but it's 
worth it because the rent is so cheap." 

Story by Erin Halliday 

This page, Dan Goldfarb enjoys a view from the window of his cupola home; 
opposite page, top, Gabe Laubacher lives in an apartment above a funeral 
home; bottom, Lee Danison has accumulated a roomful of cacti. 



Living / Learning Community 

TheLiving / Learning Community in Stopher Hall was 
begun three years ago to practice skills taught in 
classes at the Center for Peaceful Change, among 
them group interaction and personal development. 
The community has become a unique living 
environment within the dormitory system — a place 
where men and women can share an open, 
uninhabited lifestyle. 


\\V * ^h 

Opposite page, top, Melinda Mills bakes bread in the community's 
kitchen; bottom, Steve Sackman and Nathan Sooy discuss plans for 
an upcoming forum with the Board of Trustees while other 
community members limber up. This page, top, Vicki Bell playfully 
tosses a bucket of water in Craig Glassner's face; bottom, a 
moment of quick emotion. 

Photos by Lee Ball 


Dorm decor 

One of the most dismal places on campus is a dorm room in 
which no one lives. The bare walls, clean but dirty-brown 
linoleum and stripped bunks create an institutionalized 
atmosphere. There is little to distinguish the room from a 
hospital room until students move in. 

Then the room comes alive with sounds from a stereo, the 
colors of flowered or patchwork quilts thrown across the 
beds, pictures and posters hung on the walls, swinging bead 
curtains and plants in hanging planters by the window. 

Homey touches are added — beer bottles line the windowsill, 
a shaggy foot-shaped rug is thrown on the floor, an extra 
arm chair and a footstool make the room a comfortable place 
to study or watch TV. 

Students escape through diversity in home decor. Two Allyn 
Hall students, Maria Giudice and Lynn Schumacher, livened 
their room by painting a huge sun mural on one wall. Bill 
Vokovick and Jeff Flockor, architecture students in Koonce 
Hall, creatively used wood by flanking their walls with 
modular shelves made from ammo boxes. Some of the boxes 
date to the Korean War. 

One student, Mike Giovannone, a sophomore public relations 
major, brought a strange friend to Clark Hall with him. 

He has a coffin in his room. He says it is his travelling 
companion and "makes a dandy footlocker." At present the 
coffin serves as a convenient shelf for bottles, candles and 
another old friend — a skull named Fred. 

Giovannone's roommate, Reed Schnittker, said the coffin 
was at first a shock, but it no longer intimidates him or the 
pair's neighbors. A group of friends gathers there every 
afternoon, but not to participate in any macabre ritual — they 
come to watch TV. 

Story by Mary Mullin 

This page, left, two Allyn Hall residents, Maria Giudice and Lynn 
Schumacher, painted a sun mural on their wall to brighten the atmosphere; 
right, Mike Giovannone and Mark Museka make a ghostly appearance by 
Mike's coffin, which holds a skull named Fred; opposite page, top, quilts, 
plants and murals are a matter of personal taste; bottom, Bill Vokovick and 
Jeff Flocker used ammo boxes for shelves 


First impressions . . 

Three freshmen 

"You can learn a lot just from your 
environment. You can't learn everything 
from books." 

Dona Syroski's class schedule illustrates a typical student 
problem. The original gave her English, biology, chemistry, 
introduction to nursing and ice skating — everything she 
requested, but at the wrong times. 

"They had me scheduled to commute on Thursdays for just 
one class," she recalled, "and one day they had me starting 
at 8:50 and staying all day just for an evening class." 

Dona went through drop and add and found no other 
classes suited her scheduling plans. She was told to wait. 

Ten minutes later, she was handed a new schedule which 
gave her the same classes at the times for which she had 

"I don't understand this system at all. Why couldn't they 
have just done it that way in the first place?" 

Pam Mojzer lives in Olson Hall, Tom Donovan in Johnson 
Hall. They enjoy living on campus, although both dislike the 
mandatory 2-year on-campus housing plan. 

"I'd live off-campus if I had a choice," Pam said. 

"It would be nice to have the choice," Tom agreed, "but it 
really isn't all that bad. I live here with my best friend and 
we've met a lot of people just by leaving our door open." 

impressions change awaits the seasoning of a few quarters 

Pam, an art major from nearby Munroe Falls, was familiar 
with Kent before coming to KSU. She lived close enough to 
commute, but decided her life had been too sheltered after 
attending an all-girls high school. 

"I like living away from home," she said. "There's a lot more 
freedom. I think you can learn a lot just from your 
environment. You can't learn everything from books." 

Tom, a marketing major from Cleveland, agreed with Pam. 

"But with that freedom," he said, "comes a sense of 
responsibility. It makes you want to do something instead of 
having to do it." 

Commuting is practical for Dona, a nursing major. She drives 
about 20 miles to Kent four days a week from Walton Hills. 

"I have a horse at home and I'm in a lot of shows, so it 
wouldn't be practical for me to live here," she said. 

"Still, I'd like to see some of the things that go on here at 

Exactly what does go on at night? 

If there is an already-been-here tone to the above scenes it is "The bars are downtown, if that's what you want to do," Tom 
because Dona, Pam and Tom are freshmen, the state that is said. "We can play ping-pong or pool or just stay in the 
a gateway to familiarity with KSU. Whether or not their dorm." 


"it can get noisy, though, and that gets to be a bother," he 

Pam wasn't impressed by the downtown night life. 

"Nothing about Kent really surprised me," she said, "except 
that there really are a lot of high people around here. I just 
didn't expect that." 

All three seem to enjoy their classes and think their 
instructors are doing a good job. 

"There's always someone ready to help out. The profs seem 
interested in what they're doing," observed Tom. 

Dona thinks the profs occasionally expect too much of 
students, but she is enjoying the classes. 

"Of course," she added, "I haven't gotten any grades yet." 

Do freshmen really get picked on as much as some people 

"Freshmen get put down by upperclassmen and the 
administration really pushes us around," said Pam. 

She said that when she requested a double room she was 
assigned to a triple. 

"There's just not enough space for three people," she said. 
"The school gets the biggest dorm turnout in years, so they 
shut down cafeterias. It just doesn't make sense." 

The three had varied opinions about the atmosphere of the 

"People could be a little friendlier," Pam said. "A lot seem to 
keep to themselves. They don't seem to want to take the time 
to get to know you." 

"So far, I've found most of the people here to be very 
friendly," said Tom, "except for some in my hall who have 
loud stereos." 

"I have to meet people in my classes, since I don't have 
much time between classes," said Dona. "The people I've 
met so far seem to want to work. They're here to learn. I 
enjoy meeting them." 

Any embarassing moments so far? Just one. 

"I was in the wrong building for my English class on the first 
day of school," Dona recalled. "I walked into the wrong 
room after class had started. I felt strange walking back out, 
knowing all those people were staring." 

Story by Al Pfenninger. Photos by Matt Bulvony 

Opposite page, left, Dona Syroski commutes about 20 miles a day from her 
home in Walton Hills; right, Pam Mojzer's family helps her move into Olson 
Hall; this page, left, family portraits in the Student Center Plaza; right, Tom 
Donovan discusses KSU from a freshman's viewpoint. 

Last impressions 


"Much of the time I've spent in the 
classroom has been wasted." 

Three different people presumably would have three different 
views of college life. Especially at the senior level. 

By then, one would think future plans would be somewhat 
crystallized or mapped out to fit distinct personalities. 

That is not necessarily so. 

Cal Temple was an introvert when he entered KSU as a 
freshman in 1969. As a senior, he is no longer inward- 

"I view the university as a steppingstone to my future. More 
than actual class time, I value the personal contacts I have 
made — the knowledge I have gained about people and 

"I've gotten more outside the classroom than inside. I've 
learned about myself and how to relate to others. I've 
learned that there is more to consider than how well I do on 
the next test. It's the long run, the next 20 years, that count." 

Another senior, Molly Wagner, once was walking past 
Bowman Hall when a man grabbed her by the arm and 
helped her down the stairs into the main entrance. The only 
trouble was that Molly did not want to go into Bowman Hall, 
but she runs into problems of that nature constantly. 

Molly Wagner is blind. 

She has learned in her three years here that people "are not 
totally honest with me. People try to shelter me. One thing 
I've had to learn is to get people to treat me as a person. 

Senior Kathy Smith concurred. "Much of the time I've spent 
in the classroom has been wasted," she said. 

People are basically concerned, she said, but do not know 
how to treat someone who is blind. 


Opposite page, left, Cal Temple sits with friends in the Student Center snack bar, right, Molly Wagner. This page, Kathy Smith 

"I've really learned a lot here about myself and others. I have 
to admit, though, school's getting a little tiring." 

The three agreed they had changed since beginning college. 

"I became much more politically and socially conscious," 
said Cal. "Culturally, my horizons have expanded." 

Kathy said she expected to change. She said she came to 
school to meet a variety of people and gain a varied 

Molly said she has grown. 

"I am more aware of myself, and I think I know people much 
better than I did before coming to school," she said. 

"I've been blind all my life. But now I know there is a lot out 
in the world that I can do. If I have a regret about leaving 
here it would be that I didn't get around to some of the 

things I want to know." 

The three have no immediate plans for graduate school. 

"I would like to go back and pick up a degree in graphics," 
said Cal. "I might need something to supplement my 
marketing degree someday." 

Kathy said she has no plans at the moment. 

Molly plans to attend graduate school, but said, "Not right 
away. I'd like to get a job first, maybe travel a little. 

"I've spent time teaching others not to treat me special just 
because I'm blind. I'm unique in one way . . . but so is 
everyone else." 

Story by Al Richardson 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 


A voice of alienation 

The dropout 

It was in April 1973 that Dave Voelker wrote in a Daily Kent 
Stater "Guest Column" . . . 

"There are very few people on this campus who don't feel in 
some vague and and indefinable way, that something is 
wrong with KSU . . . Everywhere I walk on this campus, the 
words spoken by Thoreau over a century ago echo 
ominously through my mind: 'The mass of men lead lives of 
quiet desperation . . . ' Isn't that a perfect description of the 
silent panic that can be seen on the faces of practically every 
member of the university community as they rush back and 
forth between classes and appointments? Where are they 
going? Oh, they can tell you the building and room number, 
but does that answer the question? Never in my life have I 
seen an institution so lacking in purpose and direction. 
Where is this university going?" 

It was the voice of alienation, but not despair. It was also the 
voice of a KSU dropout, frustrated by an administration he 
thought uncommitted to providing direction and whose every 
statement he found filled with empty rhetoric; a faculty he 
thought was uncommitted to helping students resolve their 
intellectual confusion and a student body lacking in goals 
and evading reality through drug use. 

Only five hours short of graduation, Dave Voelker left the 
university after winter quarter 1973, never to return to earn 
his diploma. 

His words were articulate and his thoughts, though not all 
novel, were strikingly expressed. His ideas spurred a desire 
in this writer's mind to know what has become of Dave 
Voelker and his attitudes three years later. 

"A university was a great place to go if you didn't know what 
the hell you wanted to do and you weren't interested in 
finding out. The university encourages directionlessness. It's 
a great place to flounder because it allows for it. 

"But at the same time, I really enjoyed the years I spent at 

Dave Voelker spoke as he sat in his living room in a big 
double home in Cleveland Heights last October. These days 
Dave puts in 40 hours a week in his father's restaurant 
appliance repair business. His free time is spent most often 
in reading, record-listening and at work on a satiric novel 
about universities. 

Intelligent and possessed of a mind more penetrating than 
most, he is an expansive individual and was glad to talk 
about his problems with KSU. In doing so, he revealed his 
intellectual embrace of the fiercely rationalistic philosophy of 
Ayn Rand, which colored his reaction to KSU. 

Rand, something of a cult figure primarily as a result of her 
two novels, "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Fountainhead", 
espouses a philosophy of objectivism, holding that man must 
be guided exclusively by reason and his own happiness, that 
government's only function is to protect individual rights and 
that truth and ethics are not relative and subjective but can 
be known absolutely and objectively. Fortunately Voelker 
lacked the oft-mentioned self-righteousness of his 
philosophical mentor; he admitted he didn't have all the 

As Voelker sipped a beer and dredged up the past, he 
appeared happy and content. He admitted no regret over his 
premature departure from Kent. 

He recalled his early hopes of finding KSU a university 
serious about providing direction for its students. 

Instead he found it to be "a big jellyfish" lacking, he said, "a 
framework and philosophical standards, an institution that 
had lost sight of its primary purpose: to teach." 

Voelker admits the university's lack of purpose and goals 
resembled his own personal situation when he entered 
school. He studied little his first year but earned a 3.97 

"After that," he said, "I knew the university was bullshit." His 
reaction to the university grew increasingly troubled. 

"I didn't have direction but I wanted it," Voelker recalled, 
"and the university was supposed to give it. Maybe I was 
mad because the university let me get away with all the 
things I got away with." 

The experience that led to Voelker's dicision to drop out was 
his failing a five-hour pass-fail course in geography during 
the 1973 winter quarter. Although his test scores were 
passing, Voelker says the instructor told him he was failed 
because of his lack of attendance. The loss of those five 
hours precluded his receiving a diploma; more importantly, it 
crystallized his criticisms of the university by making him see 
what was, to him, the absurdity of earning five more hours in 
an education he considered meaningless. 

"Truth," he said, "was up for grabs in classes." He objected 
to professors declaring a college education should take high 
school students and make them confused and insecure since 
"confusion is the first step to knowledge." 

"You'd go into philosophy classes," Voelker said, "and all 
they'd do is overwhelm you with 'this guy believes this and 
this guy believes that.' And you say 'What should I believe? 
Which one of those guys is right?' 

Voelker was a member of the KSU Student Senate at a time 
when it involved itself in social issues and controversies. On 
several occasions Voelker clashed with the predominant 
opinion of the Senate; he saw what he regarded as an 
inability of students to be objective and see both sides of an 
issue. He pointed to their reaction following the 1972 
shootings of two students at Southern University in Louisiana 
following a police-student confrontation. 

"Student government wanted to condemn the action only 24 
hours after the event when there were still many rumors 

going around," he said. "Because four were killed at Kent 
State, they were ready to draw conclusions between the two 
shootings. I was amazed and astounded that people are so 
quick to call policemen 'rednecks' and judge them on the 
basis of no evidence. They were not interested in finding out 
the evidence because they didn't want to hear that the 
students were at fault, if that turned out to be the case." 

Voelker said he found the majority of students lacked goals 
and too easily conformed to prevailing liberal sentiments, 
while often evading reality through drugs. 

"Being in college gives the illusion of progress with all the 
books and papers," he said. "But the ultimate test of higher 
education's worth must be the success of its pupils in 
meeting the challenges of their lives. What better proof of its 
dismal failure than the incredible incidence of drug use on 
campus — they're not embracing reality, they're escaping 
from it." 

Looking ahead, Voelker says he would eventually like to 
move to California and, if possible, make his living as a 
writer. The novel he is currently writing is called "Universe 
City" and will depict a university that does everything but 

His departing "Guest Column" leaves past, present and 
future KSU students with a rather chilling metaphor . . . 
"These are the questions I leave you with. How you answer 
them is no longer of any concern to me. If I may borrow an 
analogy from one of my favorite writers, KSU is a huge 
jetliner streaking through the stratosphere at tremendous 
speed, upon which you are all passengers. It won't be too 
much longer before you discover that the cockpit is empty. 

"I'm bailing out now." 

Story by Ron Kovach, Photos by Matt Bulvony. 

Dave Voelker is now married and works in his father's restaurant appliance 

repair shop. 

They stayed in Kent 


It might seem that right after graduation, the new alumnus 
would have one thing in mind — to leave town as soon as 
possible. The college experience over, the hassle of fighting 
through four years of higher education finished, the new 
addition to the job market is free. 

Why do people stay in Kent after their days at KSU are 
finished? Many who remain do so because they prefer the 
small-town way of life to the rush of a big city. 

Daryl Bateman, a 1965 KSU graduate, is a guidance 
counselor at Davey Junior High School. He says he has 
come to feel a part of the community. 

"All my children were born here and getting a job in the 
school system really tied the knot." 

Daryl heard about KSU through a cousin who had been a 
student here. He said he was "sold on the beauty of the 
campus" the minute he saw it. 

"It looked like a good place to get your head into studying," 
he recalled. A Cleveland native, Daryl said he was also 
impressed by the easy-going nature of the community. 

Daryl majored in special education and elementary education 
and is still taking classed to keep up with advancements in- 
his field. 

He was active in many professional organizations but said he 
recently left them to devote more time to his family and his 
new pastime, flying. He is also remodeling his home. 

Katherine Bencze, a 1975 KSU graduate, teaches elementary 
school in Streetsboro. She attended high school in Cleveland 
and said she came to Kent to be away from home, yet close 
enough to visit without a lengthy drive. 

Katherine was a KSU student for two years, then transferred 
to Akron University and became a part-time student. 

"Going to school part time wasn't getting me any place, 
said, so she returned to KSU to finish her degree in 
elementary education. 


"I really can't pinpoint it," said Katherine, discussing why 
she chose to stay in town. "We had the apartment here, so 
why bother to move? But we are freer to do a lot more, just 
because it's less busy here." 

Katherine and her husband plan to move as soon as money 
will permit, but said they had found "there is a better 
understanding of problems here than in other nearby 

It is also easier to form casual friendships here, said 

When he began working for Metropolitan Life Insurance 
Company as a salesman, Ed sold policies in the Kent area. 
Now he sells policies to the children of his original policy- 

Ed started college in the fall of 1938. During World War II he 
served in the Navy and said he came home at every 
opportunity "to see the town." After the war, he returned to 
college and graduated in June 1947. 

Ed said he stayed in Kent and turned down opportunities for 
advancement so he could remain with his family, all of whom 
live in town. 

A lifelong resident of Kent calls it "the greatest town in the 
world. I probably know 80 per cent of the town," said Ed 
Kordinak. "The greatest people live here." 

He has seen Kent change, but said the changes "have been 
for the better." There is still a slow pace and never much of 
a hurry to get things done, he said. 

"The university is a real asset to the community," according 
to Ed, who feels the whole system of education from 
kindergarten through graduate school is probably "one of 
the finest in the country." 

Has he ever wanted to leave Kent? "Never," said Ed. 

Story by Alex Hudson 

Photos by William Green 

From left to right: Katherine Bencze, Ed Kordinak and Daryl Bateman 


Coming home 

Homecoming 1975 

"I'm sure today's students have the same goals and philoso- 
phies that we had, but they're much better prepared and 
have more opportunities," said Dr. Arthur Tuuri, who re- 
ceived the 1975 KSU Outstanding Alumnus Award at the 
annual Alumni Day luncheon. 

Tuuri, a 1942 KSU graduate with a B.S. in Education, has 
been president of the Mott Children's Health Center in Flint, 
Mich, for 27 years. 

"I'm going to make an effort to come back more often. The 
last time I've been on campus was 12 years ago," he said. 

Tuuri recalled the days he lived on High Street. 

"Six of us cooked our own meals in a basement apartment," 
he recalled. 

"When I was here, there were 2,700 students enrolled. You 
lose personal involvement and identity when you have a 
campus expand to this size," he said as he scanned the 
Student Center. 

"I guess this is one of the things you lose when you have 
progress," he added. 

"The training I had at KSU prepared me extremely well. I was 
as well prepared as any student. My training in biochemistry, 
embryology and zoology was excellent," he noted. 

Tuuri's wife vividly recalled her days at KSU. Also a 1942 
graduate, she remembers her days at Engleman Hall. 

"I used to come out of Engleman — it was new at that time — 
and there was a swamp with trees. The baby snakes used to 
come out and sun themselves," she said. 

"We knew practically everybody. Everybody bought the 
Chestnut Burr," she recalled. 

She compared students of her era to present-day collegians. 

"I think the people coming out now are more dedicated and 
live in a more real world. The job markets back then were not 
so bad," she said. 

"War was there and the students went and no one 
questioned it. Maybe it took our generation longer to find our 
problems," she reflected. 

"I think basically students stay the same. There are those 

M 1 1 ^.JB 


"Six of us cooked meals in a basement 
apartment" — Tuuri 

By Engleman, a swamp, and baby snakes 

"Students have changed for the better — 
They're conforming more." — Pathis 

who have concern for other people and there are those who 
don't see beyond themselves," she said. 

Perhaps the KSU alumnus travelling farthest to attend the 
festivities was Len Foglesong of San Diego. A 1949 liberal 
arts graduate, he is an engineer at General Atomic Company. 

"This is the second one I've been to. 
he said. 

was here last year, 

"Students have changed," he said, comparing students of 
the 1940's to the students of the 1970's. 

"Things seemed more conservative in our day. Everything's 
changed. The students are more independent, but this 
follows through in all walks of life," he said. 

"We had big rallies before all the football games. The spirit 
was always good. After every game we all ran down on the 
field," he said. 

Constantine Pathis and his wife Rose walked into the 

Student Center with their son, Stellios, making Alumni Day a 

family affair. 

Rose Pathis received a masters in 1968 in business 


"Things have really changed. When I was there here there 

were a lot of beatniks. Now I don't notice any. It's gotten 

classier. I'd say students have changed for the better. 

They're conforming more," said the Campell resident. 

Dr. Charles Kegley, chairman of Allied Health Sciences here, 

was a 1956 KSU graduate and received his masters here in 


"Yeah, students have changed. They're much more like they 

were in the early 1960's, rather than the early 1970's. I think 

young people today are tuned into parental values, such as 

alcohol abuse. Alcohol is a parental drug," he said. 

"Students have more of an interest in athletics and are 

turning spiritually inward more than in the late 1960's," he 


Story by Paul Grant. Photos by Lee Ball. 

Opposite page, left, former students converse; right, 1975 Outstanding 
Alumnus Dr. Arthur Tuuri; this page, left, the Alumni Band. 

Chasing the spirit 

Homecoming 1975 

Fueling up for the steeplechase, showing some spirit for 
Homecoming ... off to a splashing start . . . teammates 
grab passes and sprint off . . . flying down the stairs . . . 
and a chug . . . a-lug . . . gone! . . . the three-legged 
race . . . with cracker-stuffed mouths whistle "Yankee 
Doodle Dandy" and ring the bell. 

Victory! for Phi Sigma Kappa. 



Friend-raising in the president's box 

Homecoming 1975 

Carpet underfoot and football fellows scampering far below. 
Warm when it's cold and dry when it's wet. The president's 

Sweetmeats and richly-clad oldsters. Smiles and "Well! 
How's your ..." kind of talk. Miss Ohio. The president's box. 

'Twas a thrill for me to climb the October-chilled stadium 
steps to the glass-enclosed president's box, which sits atop 
the press quarters and towers above Dix Stadium. 

Everyone was there for Homecoming '75, with the Chippewas 
of Central Michigan pitted against our own Golden Flashes. 

President and Mrs. Olds ... if I recall correctly, all KSU's 
vice-presidents . . . the fund-raising Alumni Association . . . 
the president of the Cleveland Crusaders hockey team . . . 
the box was packed. 

The day was brisk with autumn winds. Rain no longer 

Across the field, where our boys were beginning to get 
soundly shellacked by the superior Central Michigan squad, 
a few thousand KSU students sat in their designated 

The student stands weren't filled. Attendance for the game 
was recorded at 8,680. 

I hung up my jacket, downed a piece of pumpkin pie and 
proceeded to hobnob with some congenial highbrows. 

"I don't think today's kids have as much fun as when I went 
to school here," said a past president (1960) of the Alumni 

"Did you ever work on a float?" he asked me. I shook my 
head and shoveled in another fork-load. 

"You can't imagine the good times involved in working 
together with other people on a Homecoming float," he 

"It seems kids are just so heavy today." 

I headed for another piece of pie. 

Opposite page, President Glenn Olds with a friend; this page, top middle, 
Susan Kay Banks, Miss Ohio and KSU alumna, is seated between two guests; 
bottom middle, everyone was there for Homecoming 75 . . . 

Harumph, I thought. 

I excused myself and was heading for another piece of pie 
when I spied the lovely Miss Ohio sitting by herself. Miss 
Ohio is studying opera, dislikes New York City and enjoys 
AM radio. I smiled, wished her luck and resumed my journey 
to the alluring spread of desserts and fruits. 

As I debated between an apple or more pie, I struck up a 
conversation with Dr. Fay Biles, vice president for public 
affairs and development. 

Dr. Biles is a nice lady and enjoys explaining her job, her 
philosophies on life and education and her thoughts about 

Contributions, she told me. Homecoming is the only time 
when the directors of the KSU Foundation and Alumni 
Association (largely volunteers and nearly all KSU alumni) 
get together, she said. 

"The purpose of the Alumni Association and the KSU 
Foundation is friend and fund raising," Dr. Biles said. 

I sipped coffee and settled down to watch the game. 

Gadzooks!! The game was over! 

A forlorn President Olds approached me. Kent had lost the 

The hand-held Harpo Marx-type horn that he'd been honking 
with glee whenever our boys did something right hung limply 
in his hand. 

"Gosh," he said. "I hate to see our students leave before the 
game is over." 

President Olds was quite right. Our bleachers were nearly 
empty at the final gun. 

Oh well. I guess Homecoming, like the times, has changed 

Story by Steve Luttner 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 


What do they do all day? 



Edward Crosby, director of the Institute 
for African American Affairs 

Because lAAA's Uumbaji Hall is a student center, Crosby and 
his staff usually spend 12 hours a day during the week and 
several hours on weekends keeping the hall open for student 

Crosby estimates he advises as many as sixteen students per 

Crosby attends one or two meetings per week. He is, in his 
words, "desk-bound"; unable to get away from his office 
"because of the problems that arise when (I am) trying to 
figure out ways to spend the money that the department 
doesn't have." 

Crosby teaches in KSU's Black Studies program and 
frequently does guest lectures in other departments. He is 
also president of the Consortium of Black Studies Programs 
in northeastern Ohio. 

Richard Buttlar, dean of the college of Arts 
and Sciences 

Buttlar spends very little time in direct contact with students. 
Most of his time is occupied with meetings on faculty and 
university problems, budget discussions, policy making and 
curriculum planning. 

Buttlar refers to himself as "a referee, a catalyst and a 
convener" whose expertise is in organization rather than in 
direct application of programs. He works with others, seldom 
relying totally on his own ideas for program and curriculum 

Buttlar sees at least six faculty members a day and deals 
with tenure, salary and promotion problems. He usually 
attends three meetings a day to attempt to "piece together 
money for new programs," and attends three or four 
luncheons, dinners, and receptions per week. 

Buttlar says he has trouble finding time to prepare for the 
many speeches he is asked to deliver. 

"The traffic through this office is just too much to allow time 
for the creative work that is expected of me. The creative 
stuff just has to wait for evenings and weekends." 

Herbert Chereck, registrar 

There is no "typical day" in Chereck's office. 

"Each day brings a different set of circumstances and 
problems," Chereck says. 

Chereck attends only one regularly scheduled meeting: a 
weekly staff meeting where "we set aside one hour to touch 
bases with each other, work out whatever problems have 
occurred during the week and discuss potential problems for 
the upcoming week." 

Chereck estimates he is in direct contact with students 20 to 
25 times daily. He says his main objective is to be available 
for counseling and assistance as often as possible, so he 
tries to spend most of his day in or near his office. 

"Problems arise because students who come to me are 
anxious, frustrated, ready to drop out of school," said 
Chereck. "They wait until they reach the end of the road. If 
these students would present their problems early enough, 
we might be able to help them find a solution." 

Chereck works more than a 40-hour week. He estimates he 
spends at least two nights a week and nearly every Saturday 
in his office, handling things which cannot fit into his 
scheduled working hours. 

Paul "Bud" Clark, director of Food Services 

Clark attempts to plan his day but, more often than not, he is 
interrupted by student complaints, administrative meetings 
and the unceasing problems which accompany the job of 
feeding 17,000 + students three meals a day. 

Clark begins his day in one of the campus' dining halls. "The 
best way to deal with student and staff complaints is to work 
out a solution on the scene of the problem," he said. 

After breakfast, Clark goes to his office in Tri-Towers where 
he handles complaints, answers correspondence, orders 
food and supplies, and reads the Daily Kent Stater, which he 
considers a valuable source of customer feedback. 

Clark deals with student and staff complaints again in the 
afternoon, at lunch in yet another cafeteria. Working from 
the customer's perspective is easiest "where the customer 
is," says Clark. 

Clark says he is always on call and personally attends special 
functions catered by the university food services. 

"You put in the extra hours until you can deal with problems 
within the scheduled working day," he says. 

Clark usually attends three meetings per week: one with Kent 
Interhall Council, one with Sheldon Westman, director of 
residence halls, and one with his staff, to discuss current 
programs and problems. 


Kathleen Schotzinger, assistant director 
of Advising and Orientation 

Schotzinger wears two hats. She is assistant director of 
advising and orientation and director of Project DOVE, a 
program she originated which encourages older women to 
return to college. 

In her advisory capacity, Schotzinger deals with problems 
peer advisers have in counseling fellow students, and also 
helps them refresh techniques. She herself counsels seven 
or eight students per day. 

As director of orientation, Schotzinger guides new students 
through the tedious processes of registering, seeking 
financial aid and finding housing. During the summer 
orientation program for incoming freshmen, she spends 12 
hours a day helping students unfamiliar with college life 
adjust to their initial encounter with KSU. 

Schotzinger also teaches afternoon classes at KSU's Stark 
County branch and attends at least one class in career 
planning per quarter. 

Because part of her job is to help students choose careers, 
Schotzinger is designing new classes for incoming freshmen 
and students returning after several years. The classes will 
help evaluate previous learning and make career selection 

Glenn Olds, KSU president 

A typical day for President Olds runs from 6 a.m. until 3 a.m. 
Olds says his strict schedule of meetings and appointments 
leaves him little time to deal with unexpected emergencies. 

A typical day's schedule looks like this: 

8:00 Briefing for a presentation to be given later in the 

Work on events for the coming week. 
Appointment with Burr reporter. 
Meeting with a vice-president. 
Lunch with Bill Nash. 

Meeting with Bill Osborn, president of Faculty 

Meeting with former student. 
Meeting with members of the Faculty Appeals 

Faculty Senate meeting. 

Drive to Cleveland for meeting with chairman of 
Collective Bargaining Board, 
explained he normally tries to keep Monday 











mornings free to handle events for the coming week. 

KSU president is a "seven-day-a-week, 24-hour-a-day job," 
according to Olds. 

"Everybody who gets in to see me is here because the 
system has broken down somewhere along the line," he 

Olds is obligated to attend university functions, evening 
meetings, and dinners at which he is often the featured 
speaker (and for which he must spend hours in 
preparation). He also speaks to high school students, 
encouraging them to attend KSU. 

Despite his long working hours, Olds takes time to teach 
a four-hour philosophy course. 

"If I get to the point where I can no longer do the job 
with joy, then I'll go back to teaching, because that's what 
I really love," he says. 

Mike Lude, athletic director 

"I am not what I envision an athletic director to be," says 
Lude, "because my time is spent on too much paper work. 
The 'paper lion' is becoming greater all the time." 

Lude says his day is structured weeks in advance. His rigid 
schedule of appointments, meetings and correspondence 
seldom even approaches completion "because we work on a 
t. crisis basis," says Lude. 

Lude and his staff of 40 schedule athletic events (as far 
ahead as 1994), make policy, raise funds, do public relations 
work, hold organizational meetings, coordinate inter- 
departmental matters and, of course, face budget problems. 

Although his door technically is not open to people without 
appointments, Lude says he has never failed to spend time 
talking with students and he enjoys being of help. 

He counsels students, mostly athletes, on school-related 

Lude's schedule includes about 12 meetings per day and 
frequent luncheon and evening meetings. 

Richard Bredemeier, dean 
for Student Group Affairs 

Bredemeier spends most of his time in meetings. 

He attends daily meetings with student group representatives 
and weekly meetings with his staff, the executive secretary of 
the student body, Student Caucus and Stater reporters. 

He also serves "ex-officio" on the Student Affairs Council, 
and unofficially sits on the Student Life Policy Committee 
and the Student Publications Policy Committee. 

Bredemeier explained that much of his unscheduled time is 
taken up with hiring and maintaining a counseling and office 
staff, university policy administration, and his position on the 
Educational Administration faculty. 

He explained that he leaves "direct program delivery" to his 
staff of seven, which also handles accounting, fund-raising 
drives, and student counseling. 

Stories by Christine Bent 



Black Homecoming 

Alumni, family, friends and students were 
there to exchange pleasantries. 

It began Monday with a fish fry and fall fashion show . . . the 
Spirit of African Blackness, a dance / percussion group from 
Akron, provided cultural entertainment ... a get-acquainted 
affair Tuesday ... a bonfire blazed on the Commons on a 
chilly Thursday night while the folks toasted marshmallows 
. . . inside Mbari Mbayo Theater for a dance marathon ... a 
Greek show Friday ... a Halloween party for children from 
Skeels-McElrath and Windham hosted Saturday morning by 
the sororities ... a boss showing of the Spinners that night 
and more parties . . . Sunday in the home stretch a cultural 
exposition with poetry, music and dance . . . the Kent Black 
Gospel Singers and vocalist Marylyn Mabins turned the show 
out . . . then the Coronation Ball showed off the queens: Terri 
Smith, senior; Verdant Hall, junior; Karla Frazier, sophomore, 
and Margo Shamberger, freshman. 



^^L^^^l x^SSKflwSn*^ 


^ 1 

■ ► ^^\I"^ ^ 

^^^m .^1 


I ft r fl 

I ^L 

^H^I^Hw nH^BcV^s. **1^Bp 





^^r ^^B ^V I" ^Mm tt\* 



1 '^H 

Opposite page, top. a modern interpretative dance at the 
cultural exposition; bottom, a black fraternity skit. This page, 
top, the crowd watches Pristella Usher and Clyde Nickolson in 
the dance marathon, bottom left, the Spinners in concert; 
bottom right. Margo Shamberger, freshman queen. 


A feast of masks 

Halloween 1975 

Face as pale as an early snow, teeth protruding, Dracula 
stands over the trough urinal in the Kove. Some Bozo, 
complete with red nose and rouged cheeks, stops, stunned. 

"You mean even Dracula has to take a piss just like the rest 
of us?" the clown asks. The count's answer drifts through 
the closing door: "It's all the same beer." 

Up on the street, the Martians are giving an internal 
combustion engine a hard time with their light-rays. Bikers, 
unharmed by the rays, blast off towards Cleveland, leaving 
broken erections in their envied dust. 

Halloween, 1975 descends on Kent and the party promises 
to last for days. Halloween, Kent's feast of masks. 


Upbringing tells us Halloween is the evening celebration 
before the feast day of the second resurrection, when the 
dead walk the earth once again. 

But the theosophists, notably Dr. A. B. Kuhn, believe there is 
more to this party than just Christian interpretation. 

Kuhn calls the evening revel "Hallowe'en." It is the 
celebration of the universal mind's ensnarement in matter. 
The remembrance of the soul's need to be attached to a 
material body in order to become completely liberated. 

the byword. 

Back at the Kove's patio, a tuxedoed overseer guides a 
drunken apple-bobbing contest. Young lovers change roles, 
but still paw all over the darkened corners. 

Jesus stands just inside the door of the Ren-de-vou. An 
apple-cheeked type stumbles forward to ask the question we 
are all asking about this party. 

"Isn't that a little sacrilegious?" 

However one views the night, it is more than just a big party. 

The masks let all sorts of hair come falling down. The 

different strokes are rampant, and good-natured toleration is story by Matthew Flanagan 

BTbYbY f'j jW^^BB^B^B^BE^B^B^B^H 


~4 . 

iBrv i/' v ^MM 

■V \"^b1 

BL^ m 


BjflH ^^ pfff 

B&. f M 

B '4JBBB^BB£££' 

B7 "*'^ *- ^^Hi 4BsBjBt 
B^B^. wi Br ' 


i .b^bySSiH&bV&I^B 


*w ■. . ■ -■ ' ■ ■ ■ . 1 


Days of yore 

Society for Creative Anachronism 

Society members pictured opposite are, from left to right: Seigfried der 
Schwarzwald (Duane Behn); Richard of the Black Star (Rick Mansfield); Nigel 
Fitznaurice der Caeranor (Bruce Gordon); Conard Von Totenfisch (Rad Clark); 
Gabriel Serenarian (Jeff Wyndhan) and Phillip der Linden (Dale Herbort). 


Battles, tournaments, feasts and wars. 
Ladies-in-waiting and knights in shining armor. 

The medieval days are re-enacted by the Society for Creative 

"We recreate certain historical times as they ideally should 
be," said Tom Moldvay, a member. "We want to make people 
aware that a history exists behind the human race." 

For all its events, the members of the group dress in 
medieval fashion. Each has adopted the character and dress 

of a person from the Middle Ages. 

The group gathers at least once a month to stage a medieval 

battle, tournament or Pensic War. 

The weapons are not real. The swords are of light metal 
covered with silver tape; the shields are of light-weight wood 
or metal; the helmets are made from gasoline cans. 

The battles are serious matters. All are fought face to face, 
according to the rules of chivalry. It's against the rules to 
strike someone on the hands or below the shins. 

"The battle is really a sport in itself. It has a lot of the 
elements of football. You have a plan; you launch it. There's 
a flurry of activity and then it's all over until the next plan," 
said Moldvay. 

"The fighting is real enough that if you get hit, it hurts, but 
not badly," he added. 

A battle is to the death. The "dead" person lies prone until a 
marshal picks him up or the battle is over. 

"You die if you think a blow is hard enough to kill or a sword 
thrust is strong enough to penetrate a typical medieval war 
garment," Moldvay explained. 

A tournament involves more pageantry and ritual than a 
battle. Twenty to 40 individual matches are held, and the 
victorious knight wins the Queen of Love and Beauty. The 

o r , 

tournament is followed by a craft fair, medieval entertainment 
and a feast with duck, goose, stuffed pig and meat pies. 

A Pensic War is a more complex event. Two kingdoms 
maneuver for a full weekend to capture the flag, king 
and / or prince. 

To keep the group's standards high, knights are trained for 
battle from one week to several years, depending on the 
person's strengths and previous sports involvement. A 
beginner must complete novice and shire training before 
qualifying as a knight. 

The codes of chivalry are strictly enforced. 

"You don't wear steel. You don't lose your temper in battle. 
All ladies are beautiful. All men are handsome. Everyone 
commands respect even if you hate a person," said Moldvay. 

Moldvay explained that a person who disregards the codes 
or becomes too wild or dangerous in battle may be banished 
from the group. 

The Kent Society for Creative Anachronism was formed in 
January 1975 and is one of six in Ohio. It is part of a network 
of societies which began as a costume party 10 years ago in 
Berkeley, California. Nationwide, the society numbers about 
4,000. There also are societies in Canada, England and 

The group divides the United States into four kingdoms: 
East, West, Middle (of which Kent is a part) and Atenveldt. 
Kent is in the shire of Gwyntarian, which means "white 

People are lured into the society because of its showiness, 
said Moldvay. 

"Many people like the fancy parties. The costumes are so 
authentic that at the first tournament I attended, I went 
outside several times to reassure myself this was the 
twentieth century. I was relieved when I saw a traffic light," 
he said. 

Story by JoAnne Sturiale 
Photos by Thorn Warren 


They say cut back, 
we say fight back! 

The Revolutionary Student Brigade (RSB) began tour years 

The Attica Brigade became a national organization and 
formed the Revolutionary Communist Party, which developed 
a student arm — the RSB. 

Since its formation, the party and the RSB have been active 
in a wide variety of movements which Larry Kieffer, a 17- 
year-old freshman RSB member, said the Brigade referred to 
as the "hippity-hop." 

Kieffer said the party felt this hopping around was too 
confusing. The Brigade is beginning a new phase, with the 
fight against educational cutbacks of staff and quality as its 
main theme. To carry out this fight, the RSB has begun a 
new national organization, the Students for a Decent 
Education (SDE). 

"The only goal of the SDE," Kieffer said, "is the ending of 
the cutbacks." He added the RSB will support this one cause 
until it succeeds or until a re-evaluation of strategy seems 

The Brigade sees itself as the backbone of the SDE, 
according to RSB member Mark Kaprow, an 18-year-old ' 
freshman. This means the RSB will back SDE's positions and 
push their ideology, but the SDE and the Brigade are not the 
same organization. 

The immediate goal of the RSB is to "build a student 
movement as a part of the revolutionary movement, an ally of 
the working class," said Kaprow. 

The final goal of the RSB and the party is a "socialist 
revolution and the establishment of the dictatorship of the 
proletariat," according to Kaprow. 

Kaprow is a sociology major who explained his involvement 
in the RSB: "I've always been a radical." 

Kieffer joined the Brigade three years ago when his brother 
formed a chapter in Cincinnati. 

The two said there are 12 RSB members at KSU. Six of these 
were members during 1974-75 and the others are new 
recruits. For security reasons (they asked this reporter if he 
were a CIA agent), they would not reveal the names or 
number of party members in Kent. 



f A 


The SDE has attracted about 80 people to its rallies. Kaprow 
said this figure is misleading because only two people in all 
those he talked to said they were against the SDE. 

Fear of police and possible repression accounted for the 
light turnout, he said. 

Kaprow assessed the campus' mood towards the Brigade 
and the SDE as positive. 

"People want to fight but are afraid they can't win," he 
concluded. "We tell them we can win." 

Story by Matthew Flanagan 

This page, above, Brigade member Tom Foster addresses passers-by in front 
of the Student Center Opposite page, top, a demonstration; bottom, amid 
onlookers and newsmen, Brigade member Hope Foster confronts President 
Glenn Olds about the $15 per quarter tuition increase approved fall quarter. 



One member assessed the campus' mood 
towards the Brigade and the SDE as 



• c 


Religious lifestyles 

"The most important book in my life is the 

Galations 2:20: I have been crucified with Christ and it is no 
longer I who live but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now 
live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved 
me and delivered Himself up for me. 

(New American Standard) 

"The basic motivations for my life are twofold. First, Christ 
has changed me inside and I desire others to have the same 
thing. Second, I've given Jesus my 100 per cent loyalty and 
allegiance, and He commanded me to preach the gospel." 

Answers to questions are important to Jeff. 

"I have an insatiable desire to find answers. I always 
question myself. I want to know why I'm doing what I'm 

"Christianity is not a religion; it's a way of life. My answers 
come through the Bible, prayer, counselling and most 
infrequently through circumstances," he said matter-of- 

Jeff Solinger's Christian life is both inward and outward. 

"It's more than just being saved. It's a complete 
transformation: how God can take an unholy man out of an 
unholy world, make the man holy, and put him back in an 
unholy world and keep him holy." 

In his search for answers, Jeff begins each day by 
concentrating on the inward. 

"I almost always begin my day with half-an-hour, an hour, or 
two hours in prayer and Bible reading. I write out my 
thoughts — what it means to me. 

"This helps me get a deeper understanding of God, of His 
promises and blessings, and it renews my mind." 

Then Jeff turns outward. 

"I get my roommate up. Don is a quadraplegic. He's helped 
me to look at people with a Christ-like compassion, and 
we've been able to do things together. He's not like a job or 
an object. He's a friend I care about." 

After lunch the outward surfaces again. 

"I'm following up on the Josh lectures with people. We get 
together (four men) in a Bible study and sharing time. In the 
winter we want to take Christ into the dorms. We are devising 
a strategy to see that everyone in the dorms gets an 
opportunity to respond for Christ." 

He again turns inward . . . 

"The most important book in my life is the Bible. There has 
never been a book than could change lives more. 

"When I first became a Christian I had problems. Then I 
handed my life over. Now when I am tempted I remember a 
verse and make decisions. The Bible is my moral standard. 

"Being a Christian is the best and fullest life I can experience 
and I believe anyone could experience. I see Jesus as light 
and glory expressing His love." 

And outward . . . 

"At night I like to relax with friends. I like to get together. 
Because first, we are on the same plane and can identify 
with each other, and secondly, because Christians are so 
much fun to be around." 

"I'm my own religion. 

She looked down at the empty space between her legs while 
reaching to touch the back of her head. Her fingers ran 
through her hair. Quickly her head bobbed up and she 

"I guess I'd . . . " she said and paused for a moment, still 
trying to pull that something from inside her. 

"I guess I'd say I'm my own religion." 

It all seemed somewhat out of character for Madalyn Avirov 
to express herself in words. Words brought conflict. 

"I'm my only symbol," said the artist within her. Yet, it was as 
if she didn't realize what she said. "I'm looking for unity. I 
don't have a hold of it yet. 

wants to do and with what my mind wants. I want to unify it, 
put it back to center, see it as one." 

Hatha Yoga, meditation, art and dance are all intertwined in 
binding nets within her. 

"With yoga meditations sometimes I see the fire. I focus on 
the flame. Nature is the core of the earth. The center is in 
me. The essence is the unifying force." 

She drifted away somewhere and again looked down at the 
floor through the frame of her crossed legs. 

She was back again — "My temple is the woods or the 
ocean. I can feel a part of it — a natural high. I have a bliss 
through yoga, art, and people. 

"A lot of times I have a conflict within my body, with what it "I've always had a reverence for the human body. I want to 

be healthy, agile and not hindered. I want to be free to move, 
to run, to fly — whatever! I don't want a Sunday religion. I 
don't want my religion out there. I want to live as I believe." 
For a moment she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. 

"I haven't had any grand realizations through yoga," she 
said, her voice now almost devoid of emotion. "But it does 
help me remember — it unifies. 

"So many times it hits me. I haven't been there all day . . . 
then I remember . . . who I am . . . that I'm okay ... I always 
was there. 

"I do write a journal ... but it all runs together 
changing . . . each part." 


Madalyn says she has come slowly to where she's at. 

"I did some on my own. I picked up a few classes here and 

there along the way," she remembered. "Oh yea, I got a lot 
of it from gym classes, too. 

"I heard some of my friends talking about yoga on campus 
last year. I got into it last March. My progress has been 
gradual. I go to classes when I can. But I can't stay on any 
schedule. I do everything on the spur of the moment. 

"It has given me a better self image, reduced my self- 
consciousness, given me self-confidence," she explained. 

"The big thing for me is that Hatha Yoga helps me deal with 
the here and now — living for the moment," she said with a 
smile that seemed to touch. "If you enjoy the present, you're 
not always looking ahead. It takes away the struggling." 

"I'm more willing to rely on my intuition, to follow my heart 
rather than my head, not trying to reason it out." 

"The laws are the beautiful part, not an 

d U » 

"Keeping Kosher," for Aaron Handler, does not mean a lot of 
unnecessary hassles. For him it is the key to a "beautiful 

"Keeping Kosher" means eating only meats and dairy 
products which have been certified by the Union of Orthodox 

And so far, for Aaron Handler, it has meant living alone. 

"Most people don't understand," he said in reference to the 
law. "I go back to Cleveland when I can to celebrate the 
Sabbath (sundown Friday to sundown Saturday). It means 
you can't use electricity. You can't drive. It gets so involved 
there are books written on it. 

It means using two sets of dishes and two towels for every 

It means eating no dairy products for six hours after eating 

It means 12 years in the Hebrew Academy in Cleveland 
learning the laws. 

It means going to the Temple in Cleveland to celebrate the 
Sabbath properly. 

It means working through red tape to become exempt from 
the dorm residency requirements for freshmen. 

"You have services once on Friday and three times on 
Saturday. They are a close time for family and friends. They 
are beautiful times when you can forget work and school. It's 
one day during the week when you feel closer to God. The 
whole Sabbath is dedicated to Him. It's the most important 
time for a Jew," he said. 

"The laws are the beautiful part, not an obstacle. They are 
what makes the Sabbath. I've found beauty in them. I 
couldn't see going without them. Until you really get into it, 
it's impossible to realize what a great thing it is. It's not a 
part of your life; it is your life. First you have religion, then 
you work everything else into it." 

Below, at Hillel with friends, bagels and lox. 

Aaron entered the Academy in kindergarten and was 
graduated with a male class of 14. Sexes are separated after 
the first grade. 

Coming to Kent required an adjustment for Aaron. It was 
now his responsibility to "Keep Kosher." The family was no 
longer around to help, and he hasn't been able to find a 
Kosher roommate. 

"When I first came here I got into what was happening. I was 
loosing what was religious. Then I talked to a lot of my 
friends who had been away at college for three years. 

"It's hard when there's no one else. It's easier to be what 
you are when you are with people who understand," he said. 

"It's difficult to really relate with someone unless you have a 
somewhat similar background. I'm not a fanatic; I'm a normal 
guy. I like to do crazy stuff. I like to swim, play tennis and 
have a social life. But people ..." He drifted off. 

"I fear God. I love God at the same time. My whole life is 
somehow connected to my religious feelings. I don't dislike 
anyone else in another religion, as long as they are religious 
in whatever they believe." 

"A lot of them don't worry about anything. They say 'Don't 
worry. I'm strong,' " he said. 

"For the past few weeks I've been trying to get it all back 
together; what I believe, what I believe about myself. I hope 
never try to live that style of life without the law. As long as 
I'm here I can't see myself getting any better. 

Stories by Scott Carr 

Photos of Solinger and Handler by Jack Radgowski 


Avirov by Mark 

The Greek rites 

Pledging — from ritual to brotherhood 

Ritualism is an important cog in the fraternity chapter 
machine. It infuses a brotherhood spirit into the members as 
opposed to hazing, which belittles individuals through pranks 
and bullying. 

"By hazing an individual, whether it be a pledge or brother, 
we would eventually lose not only a prospective member, but 
possibly an outstanding individual," explained R. Craig Miller, 
president of Phi Kappa Psi. 

"The use of ritual is to implant thoughts, sensations and 
ideas in such a manner as to make the initiation into the 
fraternity a memorable and impressive one," said Miller. "The 
ritual then becomes a rich experience, impressing upon the 
individual the right of belonging in the organization." 

Ritualism does not stop at the initiation. It continues 

throughout life through chapter songs, chants, yells, the 
badge, sets of signs and a handshake. 

Rituals, then, contain the innermost secrets of the chapters, 
and cannot be revealed to anyone except members. 

A pledge period of five weeks to five months is followed by 
an inspiration week designed to test an initiate's knowledge 
of what he has learned during his pledge period and to 
further acquaint him with his would-be fraternity brothers. 

The chapter secrets are revealed at the pledge's initiation 
ceremony. He is now a brother for life. 

Story by Ron Seuftert 


Opposite page, a rush party at the Phi Sigma Kappa house; this page, top, 
"rushees" look over the Phi Sigma Kappa house as the brothers look over 
the "rushees"; bottom left, the solemnity of the Sigma Chi formal pledging 
ceremony; right, after the ceremony, the new pledges adjourn to the Kent 
Motor Inn. 


"You actually feel it when someone hits your brother." 

The inner workings of fraternities and sororities are secret. 
Society doors are closed to the outsider and the Burr 
encountered many obstacles attempting to open them. 
Predominantly black fraternities were, like other Greeks, 
reluctant to tell of their rites and rituals. 

For example, one Burr photographer, Leon Williams, a 
former pledge, would not divulge information in any but the 
most enticing and vague manner. 

When pressed for more information, Leon would only say: 
"I'd compare pledging to boot camp. The difference between 
pledging a white frat and a black frat is like the difference 
between Air Force boot camp and Marine boot camp. Marine 
boot camp is hell." 

Other sources were more open as long as they were not 
identified. They provided additional insights about what 
happens when a man pledges a black fraternity. 

One described the pledge period as a mind game. "They 
play with your head, trying to make you feel low, like you're 
not worth shit. If you're a weak person and you believe this, 
you're going to drop out. Only the strong survive," he 

Most who talked indicated pledging involves a tremendously 
trying physical ordeal. They told of being taken to a rural 
area and ordered to do calisthenics, followed by races the 
pledges were told "to win or else," although no particular 
punishment awaited those who lost. 

Others told of having been punched repeatedly all over the 
body, except in the head and groin. One pledge explained: 
"Once we were stood up against a wall on a cold day. We 
were told to take our shirts off. Then our big brothers took 
turns punching us on the chest. They hit us, always in one 
spot, until we were so tender and bruised all they had to do 
was touch us and we'd cry." 

The group was taken to a house where they were forced to 
drink wine until they got sick-drunk. 

Pledges are not allowed to partake fully of the fraternity's 
social life until they have "crossed the line," that is, have 
passed the pledge period during which they are given daily 
assignments by their older brothers. A man might be detailed 
to clean a big brother's house or to tune another's car. No 
one may dispute a big brother. "If a big brother say 'Jump!', 
you jump," said one pledge. 

Black fraternities contacted said full-fledged members are 
voluntarily skin-branded, for instance, with a Greek letter of 
the fraternity. "Branding is not required of any member. But I 
don't know of anyone who hasn't been branded," one man 

Why the physical ordeal? "It's supposed to create a physical 
and spiritual bond, a sense of brotherhood," one man 
explained. "If someone is not entirely together (proper 
mental attitude), his ass won't be kicked, but the other 
pledges will get beat for not getting the first guy together. 
You reach the point where you actually feel it when someone 
hits your brother, and your instinctive reaction is to fight 

Fraternity representatives who were initially asked if physical 
tests occur and if so, their purpose, refused to comment. 
Some pledges said such tests are practiced by 
predominately black fraternities but their pledges and 
members either denied this or would not comment. 

Although the College Fraternity Secretaries Association has 
labeled hazing an "unproductive, ridiculous and hazardous 
custom (which) has no rightful place in the fraternity 
system," many pledges who were asked said they believed 
hazing is still a prevalent custom. 

Many pledges drop out because they cannot cope with the 
physical abuse. It would seem those who cross the line are 
accepted into the fraternity as having passed a very tough 
test of manhood indeed. 

Story by Al Richardson 
Photos by Leon Williams 


Top left, the last stage of the Kappa Alpha Psi pledge period is the "dog" 
stage, during which the pledges are required to wear dog collars; top right, 
the "dogs" must also kneel when meeting a fraternity brother, bottom, the 
Omega Psi Phi brothers doing the "ripple " 


Inspired sisterhood 

"I knew I belonged as soon as I walked into the house," 
each woman said. 

It's rush week and that's the feeling described by pledges 
required to attend parties at all the sorority houses during 
the days designed to develop sisterhood. 


"I needed some security, some support in my life." 

"You can always trust and count on your sisters. No girl here 
has ever let me down." 

"You develop leadership qualities and friendships. You do 
what you want to do and know that your friends will stick 
behind you." 

"You join a sorority for friends away from home, for 

sisterhood, a new family. There's never a feeling that you're 

Aspiring Greeks initially attend a pledge ceremony to learn 
what is asked of them to attain membership and what they 
can gain from the sorority, explained Fawn Stager of Alpha 
Xi Delta. 

Rush week, the party week, follows the pledge ceremony. 
When it's over pledges are selected and invited into the 
sorority. The week ends with a party which Stager says is to 
help convince the chosen that "you aren't just one person 
anymore. You're part of a bod' and you're part of thousands 
of people nationwide. You attain an image that has to be 
kept up." 

Hell week has been replaced with inspiration week. Hazing — 
playing cruel and practical jokes — is discouraged, said 
Peggy DeChant of Alpha Phi. 

Opposite page, after the new pledges were "on line," the atmosphere was 
relaxed and Paula Eicker did an impersonation of Liza Minnelli. This page, 
top left, from left to right, Nancy Holding, Chris Holman, Patti Littlejohn; top 
right, Delia Katz and Carol Ryckman; bottom, at the last rush for Alpha Xi 
Delta, "rushees" walk between the sorority sisters and through the archway. 


"The pledges are not supposed to feel lower than low," she 

Instead of being chastised and ridiculed, the pledges are 
required to recite important data such as founders, dates, 
sorority colors and sisters' names. They must pull pranks 
and sneak away on a weekend ditch, an excursion to 
another chapter within the state. They return with a song 
describing the experience. 

At required meetings inspired pledges receive more 
information about the sorority through songs, poems and 
skits. These encourage the pledges to feel a part of the 

"Big Sis, Little Sis" is one of the most important practices. 
Each pledge chooses three active members each would like 
to have as a Big Sis. A pledge trainer advises which should 
pair up and, after accepting, the Big Sis spends the next 

week sending anonymous gifts and cards to the Little Sis. 
The pairs are revealed only at the end of the mystery week. 
Deeper, tighter sisterly bonds are formed. 

"Although you love all the sisters, there's this one person 
who is really special to you," explained Pat Gallagher, 
president of Alpha Phi. 

When one of the sisters joyfully announces she has been 
pinned, lavaliered or engaged, a candlelight ceremony is 
held. All the lights are turned out and a single candle is lit. It 
solemnly passes from hand to hand until it reaches the newly 
betrothed sister, who blows it out. 

It's like Barb Ager, president of Sigma Sigma Sigma said: 
"Sorority life isn't for everyone, but for those of us who have 
pledged, we wouldn't live without it." 

Story by Christine Bent 

This page, Sigma Gamma Rho pledges walking "on line" to their dorms after 
a mandatory study hour in the library. Opposite page, top left. Alphi Phi 
pledges perform a skit and song describing a weekend trip to another 
chapter; top right, Valerie Hinton, a KSU graduate and Sigma Gamma Rho 
sister, returns to talk to new pledges; bottom, Sigma Gamma Rho pledges 
say good-bye to a sister in the library. 



Commuter hell: 

An ideal, not a place 


■ ■ 





In a world where the unexpected is the expected, the 
seemingly impossible happens with regularity, and the power 
of prayer is a valuable asset, there exists an unsinkable 
family known as the KSU commuters. 

It takes a special sense of humor to survive winters of 
parking in the football stadium, sliding around ice-covered 
Kent roads and daily watching the dwindling taillights of 
another missed Stadium Loop bus. 

Each commuter has a story to tell, but all share the wealth of 
common experiences. 

The story has even been told of the veteran, saintly 
commuter who died one day on his way to Kent. Since he 

had never participated in any demonstrations and had 
always paid his tuition and fees on time, he assumed he 
would go to commuter heaven. 

But he died just a few moments too late and missed the 
Stadium Loop to heaven. He spent the next two eternities at a 
bus stop in hell awaiting the next bus. Administrators say 
this story couldn't possibly be true because hell is not a 
place, it's an ideal. 

Senior Jim France, 21, of Hudson recalls the daily trail by fire 
of the railroad crossing in downtown Kent. 

While a sophomore France once spent more than an hour 
stuck in traffic at the crossing. The line was unusually long, 


Below. Ben DiCola of Canton studies for finals just before daybreak in 
the stadium parking lot; right, Jeannett Kuneman of Streetsboro 
boards the Stadium Loop. 

yet no train was in sight. 

Greer Memorial Bridge. 

"I waited in line 45 minutes before I found out what the 
trouble was," said France. "The gates had come down and 
the lights were flashing, but there wasn't any train. The guy 
in the front wouldn't go around the gates so we were all 
stuck. Someone called and finally repairmen fixed the gates. 
By the time I got up close, a train did come and I had to wait 
another half hour. 

"I was late for a test that day and I had a terrible time 
explaining why to my prof." 

Commuters like France will no longer face this headache 
since the relocation of S.R. 59 across the new Redmond 

Steve Neptune, 23, of Ravenna tells a different, but not 
unusual, story. 

He left his car at his girlfriend's house one night. She started 
out to pick him up the next morning, but she couldn't get the 
car started. 

"I walked across Ravenna to try to start the car so I could 
get to school," Neptune explained. "When I couldn't get the 
car started I tried to catch the bus. I looked all over Main 
Street trying to find a bus stop, forgetting the bus didn't go 
down that part of Main Street. Finally I found a stop and 
caught a bus. 



"When I got to class I found out not enough people had 
shown up and the class was canceled." 

Commuter and Off-Campus Student Organization (COSO) 
serves as a mother to the commuter family. One of its goals 
is "enhance the total college experience, primarily for 
commuters and off-campus students." COSO tries to achieve 
this by improving physical facilities here, by promoting, 
developing and expanding social atmosphere and by dealing 
with commuters' problems with family life and independence. 

To commuters, these goals and plans sound good, but 
impossible. Commuters have survived by learning to adapt to 
whatever situation arises. Some have tried to avoid the daily 
grind by spending winter quarter in a Wright Hall quad, 
paying $460 to $515 for the quarter. 

Nancie Kossove, 22, adviser of the winter-in-residence 
program, said most of the commuters enjoy their vacation. 
"Quite a few of them said they were glad they were here 
when the snow came." This year's 22 commuters live on the 
eighth floor of Wright Hall. 

"At our first floor meeting they wanted beer," said Kossove. 
"They aren't having any major problems but they are upset 
because there isn't a kitchen on the floor. Most of them have 
refrigerators, but now it's not like home where they can have 
hamburger anytime." 

Story by Scott Carr 

Above, a cold winter sunrise over the stadium parking lot. 


Weekend exodus 

Are we a suitcase college? 

The pilgrimage begins every Friday. 

Phone calls are made. Rides are lined up, bus tickets 
purchased, hitchhiking routes planned. Suitcases, duffel 
bags and paper sacks are packed with two or three days' 
worth of essentials. It's called getting out of Kent for the 

the security of a family (including hot meals and free laundry 
service). Others cannot wait to visit the "back home" 
girlfriend or boyfriend. 

On the less frivolous side, some students look forward only 
to a weekend of hard work at part-time jobs, which help ease 
the burden of financing an education. 

Week after week, thousands of KSU students "suitcase it" 
out of town. With throaty declarations of "there's nothing to 
do in Kent on weekends," the student heads for the familiar 
surroundings of home or catches a ride to another university 
for a couple days of partying with long-lost friends or a 
rendezvous with a sensual lover. 

Driven by wanderlust, loneliness, sexual needs, lack of cash 
and a myriad of individual quirks, students pack up and head 
out. The Friday evening exodus is repeated weekend after 
weekend. The dorms stand partially deserted, the campus is 
quieter and KSU's reputation as a "suitcase college" lives 

The benefits reaped from such excursions depend on the 
individual. Some go home to escape loneliness and to enjoy 

Story by Jeffrey Bell 
Photo by Matt Bulvony 



Melmda Mills and Allison Rubin dance after Pied Piper Cookie Rubin in front 
of Stopher Hall; bottom, Maureen Kerrigan faces a test of will power at the 

Student Center Snack Bar. 








This page, top left, Jan Temkiewicz tests for a brown belt in the Isshinryu Karate 
Club, top right, Mom and Dad, love ya, Deb, is inscribed in the sidewalk between 
Johnson and Taylor Halls; bottom, Grog takes a rest and clowns with a young fan 
before participating in a Campus Week parade down Main Street Opposite page, a 
visual organization student ponders a selection in fall's MIT exhibit in the Art 

i s 




Left, top, the Campus Day Parade clowns who danced across the Student 
Center plaza; middle, a marching band drummer, bottom; the Flasherettes 
practice behind the Music and Speech Building, right, Thomas R. Koslcki is a 
history major whose interest in the Scots led him to learn to play the 


The price of a degree 

Do you get your money's worth? 

Attending college today is like walking into quicksand. By the 
time you get deeply involved it's too late to get out. 

The average undergraduate spends four years at college. 
Time is free, of course — probably because no one has 
found an economic way to put meters on clocks — but once 
it's gone, one can't go to the corner drugstore and get a 
refill. A KSU undergraduate will pay a minimum of $10,000 
for four years' worth of tuition, fees, books, room and board. 
And every time the Board of Trustees raises tuition $15, this 
amounts to $180 over a four-year period. An undergraduate 
also must consider potential income that will be lost while 
attending college. Assuming a full-time job might pay $8,000 
per year, $32,000 is lost and the cost of an education 
becomes well over $40,000. 

The question remains: Is college worth all this time and 

I am a veteran attending KSU on the G.I. Bill. Looking back 
on my military career — I was a hospital corpsman with the 
Navy and Marines — I see striking similarities between 
college and military life. 

The things that most upset me about military life were the 
incompetence of the clowns running the show and the 
endless red tape. For four years I fought regulations, more 
regulations, regulations governing regulations. 

After four long years of organized confusion I decided to go 
to college. Ah, Academe! To hobnob with intelligentsia. To 
engage in scholarly discourse with rational minds. To 
discover the wonders of the universe — and to graduate and 
earn enough to keep off welfare, since the plumbers already 
had the best jobs. 

in in order to stand in other lines. For four years I have 
fought with lines. 

Like the service KSU has a chain of command. The 
unqualified order the unwilling to do the unnecessary. The 
left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing, but 
what's worse is that quite often both hands are kept in 
pockets, not doing much of anything! 
And what has all this to do with the value of a college 
education? Just this. What happens here happens out there 
on a much larger scale. The arguments we make, the 
discussions we hold, the incompetence we see, the 
frustrations we suffer and the things we learn here are 
merely small reflections of what is happening out in the "real 
world." What we make of our college experiences has a 
great deal to do with what we make of our lives. 

We see hundreds of thousands of dollars invested in 
intercollegiate athletics at the same time we see a "Snyder 
Plan" for faculty cutbacks. Yet, while the stadium can't be 
filled for a football game, or the gym for basketball, students 
are being closed out of classes. We see Rockwell Hall being 
remodeled at the same time Franklin Hall sits on the verge of 
being condemned. We see a tall, modern library half filled 
with books. 

And, we also see students — people. Some who care and 
some who don't. Some who protest without offering any 
alternatives. Some who offer alternatives, but who cannot be 
heard because of all the shouting. Life in microcosm. 

For me, KSU has been a rewarding, albeit painful, 
experience. But, what worries me is that now I've got to go 
through it all over again "out there," and this time — it's for 

And what did I find upon my arrival at these ivy-covered (or 
is it mildew-covered?) halls? Lines. More lines. Lines to stand 

Story by Arthur Stafford 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 



Interns: Learning by working 

Aerospace technology 

Learning is reinforced by doing. 

This theory has been the basis of many KSU internship 
programs in which students received credit for professional 
experience, usually off campus for a quarter, in the student's 
major field. 

Rob Garrett and Jim Ramey, aerospace management 
seniors, worked seven and four months respectively as junior 
industrial engineers with the Grumman American Aviation 
Corp. in Cleveland. 

For starters Rob was assigned to redesign the company's 
organizational chart, then both scheduled production and 
worked in departmental budgeting, manpower and capital 
equipment transfer to another Grumman plant. 

The job was a challenge, said Rob. "At first we were just 
college kids to the foremen." Establishing repertoire took 
time, patience and a few beers, he said. 

Grumman," said Jim. "When I finished there I could better 
apply my classwork here. It was a reciprocal relationship." 
Rob added, "We put theory into practice and we learned 
how to get along with people." 

It's hard to motivate more technology students to have 
internships because only two to 12 hours credit can be given 
for such work. The weeks away from campus prolong a 
college career and cut into the student's pocketbook, 
explained Dr. Pedar Otterson, assistant director of the school 
of technology. Thus the problem is not finding cooperative 
industries, but cooperative students. 

"Student interns are more valuable to the industry than those 
who haven't participated," he said. Many times a company 
will hire the person into a junior management position. 
Training is cheaper and the employe may move up the salary 
scale faster, said Otterson. In addition, he said the student 
can determine through an internship if the occupation is 
really satisfying. 

"What I learned in three years at Kent, I could apply at 



Reserve Officers Training Corps concentrates on preparing 
young men and women for leadership positions as military 
officers. Part of this training is carried out when student 
commanders are chosen each quarter to head freshmen and 
sophomore leadership labs. 

Lee Metzger, a senior aerospace technology major was a 
commander winter quarter 1976 and had to choose a student 
staff to assist him in instructing new recruits on Air Force 
customs, drills, ceremonies, military commands and dress. 

"The performance of the group is a direct indicator of the 
time, planning and coordination of the staff," said Lee. "I 
hope the freshmen and sophomores can look back and say 
they've learned something." 

■■■■ , . . ■ . 

Opposite page, James Ramey and Rob Garrett, aerospace technology 
majors, interned as junior engineers with the Grumman American Aviation 
Corp. in Cleveland This page, Lee Metzger, a senior aerospace technology 
major, served as a ROTC commander winter quarter 1976. 


Home economics 

Beverly Simpson works at the home economics day care 
center. A graduate assistant in Individual and Family 
Development, she feels her experiences now and when she 
was an undergraduate here have been very beneficial. 

"Learning the characteristics of the different age levels and 
understanding children and their needs is the most important 
knowledge I have gained," said Beverly. "Dealing directly 
with children is valuable. We have a philosophy here through 
which we try to meet the needs of each individual child. We 
respect and try to fulfill each's needs." 

As an intern, she found a lot of help and said workers 
answered all her questions. 

Beverly also worked professionally in the Kent area, which 
she felt was more difficult than internship work or her 
assistantship. "Facilities were not as good as they are here," 
she explained. 

"Actually, working with children and learning about them is 
the best experience although bookwork has its importance 
too," said Beverly. "Four years of bookwork alone definitely 
would not be enough preparation for a career." 

Beverly Simpson, a graduate assistant in Individual and Family Development, 
feels working with children is the "best experience " Below, Beverly at work 
at the home economics day care center. 



After completing a copy editing internship in journalism at 
the Akron Beacon Journal, Mary Grace Dobrzeniecki is 
working professionally at the Beacon as well as completing 
her degree here. Through a Dow Jones-sponsored 
program she was sent to Ohio State to study editing 
techniques for three weeks and then went to work for the 

Her first day was "my trial by blood," she said. However, she 
received a great deal of help from the staff. 

"I found people there that were extremely helpful and 
received feedback." 

She said the newsroom had a congenial atmosphere in 
which people would compliment her work. "When you're 
uncertain it does you good to know," she said. 

Through her experiences, Mary Grace said she "fell in love 
with editing. I didn't know how valuable an internship would 
be until I did it. You can't get the feel of a professional 
newsroom until you've worked for one." 

Mary Grace said she finds it very difficult to come back to 
theory classes. "They just don't teach you about the real 

Mary Grace Dobrzeniecki, a journalism major, interned as a copy editor at 
the Akron Beacon Journal, where she is now employed part time. 



"Working with kids is a lot different from reading a book," 
says education major Mark Desetti. He feels student teaching 
was a vital part of his education. "Theory doesn't always 

The program gave him an idea of what working as a 
professional would be like, he said. His responsibilities varied 
with his supervising teachers. "I've had teachers who left me 
alone with the kids," he said. 

Mark said he learned two important things. One was how to 
present a lesson plan "because you can write an ideal one 
and go in and present it all the wrong way." The other was 
discipline, he said. 

Mark began his education as a telecommunications major 
but while working with the Teacher Education for the 
Disadvantaged project he found he was really interested in 
early childhood education. 

Talking with other students who work with the program was 
helpful, Mark said. They had classroom sessions at the 
university to discuss their experiences. 

The program has given him the kind of preparation he needs 
to work as a professional, Mark said. 

"I'm not afraid to be a teacher now." 


Criminal justice 

Helen Slipec, a senior criminal justice major, served an 
internship with the KSU police. 

She and fellow interns were given a lot of time to nose 
around. "They let us look into everything but classified 
material. It was up to us to ask questions. If we wanted to 
know something, we'd be told," said Helen. 

Her experience included patrolling with police officers, filing 
cases in the records division and follow-up investigations for 
the detective bureau. 

"I learned more about campus in three months than I did in 
three years," she said. "I learned how to get from one 
building to another without being seen. I got into rooms I 
never knew existed." 

"Each patrolman was different," Helen said. "The police at 
the union did a lot of public relations work, stopping to chat 
with people. As a student I didn't realize this." 

After talking with an officer who investigated a Youngstown 
bombing, she realized the possibility of encountering 
squeamish situations. She explained: 

"I never knew how to deal with picking up a leg in the front 
yard or an arm from a tree. I discovered you can't let things 
like that affect you. You have to psych yourself out and think 
of the limb as belonging to a mannequin. If you can't deal 
with it, you should get out. We were advised to expect the 

Aerospace technology, ROTC and criminal justice by JoAnne Sturlale. Home 
economics, journalism and education by Pat Paolucci. 

Opposite page, education major Mark Desetti teaching Rachel Tudor. This 
page, Helen Slipec, who interned with the KSU Police, sits in the 
department's communications center. 


For love or money 

Steve is Gene's hands. 

Steve dresses Gene. He bathes Gene. He covers him before 
sleeping and makes sure he's out of bed in time for his first 

But most important, Steve is Gene's closest friend and 
employe, and Steve is constantly reminded of that dual 

Steve Jones began taking care of Gene Rodgers one year 
ago through the Handicapped Student Services. Steve is a 
handi-aide. Gene is a quadraplegic, paralyzed from the neck 
down after a fall from a cliff four years ago. 

After his accident, Gene had the choice of life in a nursing 
home or an education in an area recommended by the 
government. Gene chose college and the government chose 

After two years at Cuyahoga Community College, Gene 
transferred to Kent and has lived in Stopher Hall, where he 
and Steve met. 

The pair started working together in winter 1975. The 

Steve to do anything for Gene that he could not do himself. 
This ranged from answering phones to Gene's sanitary and 
personal needs. 

Working together closely for a year has caused the 
friendship to grow into two levels, said Steve. 

"Gene is a very good friend, almost to the point at which I 
love him. But I'm constantly reminded, both by myself and 
Gene, that I'm being paid for what I do," he said. 

"It's a paradox I haven't worked out," said Steve. "Gene has 
become such a part of my life that I'd help him even without 
the payment." 

Steve had studied no medical courses before taking the job. 
Learning to take care of Gene was not technically difficult, 
said Steve. It was a matter of Gene explaining and Steve 
making mistakes before catching on. 

"It took me four years to learn to be a cripple," said Gene, 
"But it took two weeks for Steve to learn the job." 

The usual handi-aide becomes discouraged and quits after 
the first quarter, said Gene. He has had six in two years at 

relationship started as a contractual agreement that required Kent. 

Fully aware of the possible difficulties, Steve said: 

"I took the job partly because of the money and partly 
because I was starving for a deep personal relationship. I 
was a freshman trying to get adjusted to the university and I 
really needed to talk with someone on an intellectual level." 

The two discussed their beliefs in the metaphysical life. 

"We sometimes think alike and other times totally different," 
said Gene. "Sometimes we're almost like a unit, a cloud. We 
come together for a period of time, then pull apart and go 
our ways." 

Gene is as independent as possible. He takes the "thanks, 
but no thanks" attitude when people try to be overly helpful. 
By wearing a "cuff" and bending a fork, Gene can feed 

Steve respects Gene's independence. When Gene shifts his 
electric wheel chair in reverse to get situated in a room, 
Steve does not jump up and help. 

It took time to get adjusted to each other's habits, like drying 
out ears after a shower, said Steve. 

"I've gotten to the point where I pick out the sound of his 

wheel chair over all the other wheel chairs in Stopher Hall," 
Steve said. 

"Our close friendship has really expanded my mind," said 
Steve. "Many times we talk about changes that have been 
imperative to our lives." 

By knowing Gene, said Steve, "I've grown to know myself 
better. I've grown through the friends he's introduced me to 
and I've formed a better idea of how it is to be handicapped. 

"I have a basic belief that man is here to benefit man and I'm 
only doing a small part by helping Gene. I'm concerned that 
I'm not doing enough," Steve said. 

"Gene is very negative towards the world. I'm trying to 
change that," he said. 

Steve predicted Gene's opinion of his influence on Steve. 

"I'd have to say I've given Steve financial security," Gene 

Story by JoAnne Sturiale 
Photos by Lee Ball 


Two for the road 

Every weekend two broadcasters covered 
a completely different situation. 







The campus microcosm can limit the variety of reporting for 
journalism and telecommunications majors, but it also can 
provide a nest from which to fly. As part of extended 
classwork, two news students were able to bring a 
Washington, D.C. rally, the Kentucky Derby, Freedom Train 
and the Kent State civil suit to students via the campus radio 
and television stations. 

The pair went to Washington, D.C. by bus with a Cleveland 
labor union local to cover the April 26 "Jobs Now" labor 
rally. Leaving Friday afternoon, they arrived Saturday to 
watch the organized rally disintegrate into protest before the 
eyes of Sen. Hubert Humphrey, D-Minn., Rep. Bella Abzug, 
D-NY, and nearly 50,000 workers. 

Armed with hours of recording tape and hundreds of feet of 
film, Suzanne Lowery and Bob Jones worked straight 
through the following Sunday and Monday to present the 
rally story on WKSU-FM's 6:30 evening news and on TV-2 
news Monday night. 

"I realized immediately how difficult it is to remain objective 
in such an intense crowd environment," said Lowery. 
"People don't want to be asked any questions. They didn't 
hesitate to push me away." 

The Kentucky Derby on May 3 in Louisville, Ky. was a sharp 


contrast. A rowdy crowd of more than 300,000 had a day- 
long party and only the grand race was taken seriously that 
Saturday. Voices singing "My Old Kentucky Home" and cries 
from winners and losers were brought by film to KSU the 
following Monday evening. 

"It took me a while to realize all these things were really 
happening to me," said Jones. "Every weekend I was in a 
different place covering a completely different situation. I just 
couldn't see myself in any profession not dealing with 
photojournalism after that spring." 

The pair describes KSU's radio and TV operations as "a 

terrific learning facility." 

Says Lowery, "I've gotten an incredible amount of practical 
experience in all aspects of news at WKSU radio. As anchor 
of the 6:30 evening news for nine months, I got more than 
just a taste of a 'real world' job." 

Story and photos by Bob Jones and Suzanne Lowery. 

Bob Jones and Suzanne Lowery captured the sights and sounds of the 
Freedom Train in Cleveland (top), an unemployment demonstration in 
Washington, DC. (bottom left), and the Kentucky Derby (below). 


Reversing roles 

He's not a traditional nurse. 

During a stint in the U.S. Army Ken Smolinski concluded that 
much of what people do during their lives seemed irrelevant. 
In order to put some relevance into his own life, he decided 
to become a nurse. 

Smolinski explained that by becoming a nurse he could help 
other people while getting satisfaction from a profession that 
requires study and skill. Smolinski also plans to use his 
training to lobby legislation that will change current medical 
programs and initiate new ones. 

Smolinski, a junior, said when he made his career choice the 
most common reaction among family and friends was, "Why 
not become a doctor?", or, "A nurse? Why Ken, you've never 
been effeminate!" 

Smolinski's stock answer was (and is) that he is not entering 
the medical profession because of the money he could 
make, but for the satisfaction he will get from "being able to 
help others when they most need it." 

When asked if there are prejudices against male nurses, 
Smolinski explained that so far most of the discrepancies 
have been to his advantage. Within the school of nursing he 
feels that many times he gets better treatment than the 
women students because professionals are happy to see the 
sexual barriers broken down and so welcome him into the 
"feminine" career of nursing. 

The prejudices will be most obvious after graduation when 
he starts to look for a job in a hospital, said Smolinski. 

Male nurses traditionally are put on duty in the operating 
room or are encouraged to become anesthesiologists, he 

"These areas allow the nurse to be more masculine because 
there is less intimate contact with the patient," Smolinski 

"As a professional I must be person-oriented, I must be 
loving and giving to the people for whom I am caring. As a 
male nurse in an operating room, my job would be like any 
other 8-to-5 job — I would leave everything behind me when I 
went home." For this reason more than any other he said he 
would like to work on the floor and personally attend to 
patients' needs, but is not sure he will get the opportunity. 

Smolinski said the reason more men do not pursue a career 
in nursing it that, "obviously, it is stereotyped as a woman's 

But he feels there are definite advantages to being one of 
the few males among many females. Perhaps the greatest 
advantage is that "because of women's socialization, they 
have trouble being assertive and questioning authority." 
Smolinski said because of this he "naturally assumes 
leadership in the classroom and at the hospital." 

Smolinski said patients' reactions to him vary with age and 
the patient's sex. 

"Older women, who wouldn't react to a male doctor's 
presence at all, are very reluctant to be assisted by a male 
nurse, and are somewhat embarrassed. Men, after the initial 
disappointment of not seeing the 'pretty nurse,' tend to think 
I'm queer. With the men, I just talk about the latest ball 
games — that kind of thing — and they eventually come 
around with jokes about how pretty the nurses on the floor 
are getting. Younger patients, of either sex, just think it's cute." 


^r 1 

%m\ jQfc I >* 


, . 




c 1 HI ^ J^Hv40 


..aiWWffP ,/*Wk 

— ^s^ 



hHJB ' 


B . *sr» 






As a coach she expects people to look 
at her work, not her sex. 

Nancy Battista sees no barriers to her pursuit of a career in 
coaching and athletic training. 

"A woman can do the same job as a man — there are no 
sexual barriers. If a person can do the job and do it well, he 
or she will get the job. I expect people to look at my work, 
not my sex," she explains. 

Battista has played sports since junior high school and has 
taught tennis professionally for four years. Now a junior, she 
is majoring in physical education with a concentration in 
coaching, and will graduate with a B.S. in physical 
education. She will be qualified to coach, but says she will 
return for a masters in athletic training. 

Battista explained that the field of athletic training is wide 
open to men and women because many high schools are 
beginning to hire trainers. 

"The opportunities are there and I am bound and determined 
to get a job," she said. 

Battista said she would prefer coaching and training men 
because their facilities are much more extensive than those 
provided for women's sports. 

"The job is easier and the training more effective when 
you're working with good equipment. For example, in the 
women's training room at KSU we have just a few benches 
and some tape, while in the men's training room they have 
whirlpools and ultrasons (heat lamps)," said Battista. 

The reaction of her parents to her career choice has been 
"one of total support" said Battista. "They told me whatever 
career I wanted to pursue was fine with them but I have to 
accept the responsibility for the outcome." 


"If a man and a woman are of equal ability, 
the man always will get the job. A woman 
simply has to play better than a man." 

Chris Dolce, a graduate student in the school of music, is 
pursuing a career in "full-time, professional, free-lance 
trumpet playing, covering the gamut from jazz to classical." 

How did Dolce become interested in the trumpet? She said 
her start was "nothing exceptional." The music teacher 
asked her fourth grade class what instrument each would 
like to play and her first choice was drums, which her mother 
vetoed. Her second choice was trumpet. 

After music classes at school, Dolce began private lessons 
and now, 17 years later, has a seat with the KSU Faculty 
Brass Quintet, the Lab Band, has soloed with the Medina 
Orchestra, plays with dance bands whenever she can, 
teaches KSU music students and gives private lessons in her 
Lakewood home. 

Barriers for a female trumpet player exist, but Dolce 

"In the classical area women traditionally have been 
accepted. If you play well, you are given a chance. In jazz I 
find a little more resistance. They're not so ready to accept a 
woman. One thing that is true and very relevant is that if a 
man and a woman are of equal ability, the man always will 
get the job. A woman simply has to play better than a man." 

Dolce said she is going to freelance because she does not 
want to lock herself into any one style. 

"I enjoy all types of music and I think a musician in these 
times must be able to perform all types of music to survive. 
For example, how many times does somebody want a 
baroque trumpet soloist and how many times does 
somebody call up and say, 'Hey, I need a trumpet to play this 

Because Dolce only has been studying jazz for two years, 
she does not feel her style is polished enough to be 
individual. But one of her desires is to get a position playing 
the show circuit. In order to do that she makes herself 
available for "fill-ins" and hopes to publicize her name and 

"I enjoy my femininity, I'm not playing trumpet because of a 
'women's lib' type thing. As a matter of fact, my views on 
women's lib are quite conservative. But I do believe in 
equality in a job situation. I think it's very important." 

Stories by Christine Bent 

Photos of Smolinski and Battista by Jack Radgowski; Dolce by Jeff Day. 

Living both sides 

John Gray 

"They ask me to prove I'm black. I always 
decline. I know who I am." 

"Of course I deliberately provoke people," said John Gray, 
"but I do it to begin the learning process." 

Gray has been provoking people for the past eight years by 
posing as a white bigot. In fact, he is neither a bigot nor 
white, nor is his real name John Gray — he merely uses it to 
strengthen his presentation. 

Sociologists call people like Gray "marginal" that is, they are 
able to pass as a member of another race. Gray is impossible 
to identify as a black, even though his parents, grandparents, 
wife and children are all black. 

Growing up in the 1940's was especially tough for Gray. 
Because of his fair skin and racial heritage, he felt 
comfortable with neither his white nor black classmates. He 
experienced extreme prejudice from both sides. 

Gray said he did not become bitter because he had a chance 
to see the attitudes of both races from a personal viewpoint. 

"I was also able to see both sides of individuals — the way 
someone would treat a black person as opposed to the way 
he would treat a white person," said Gray. 

Gray feels experience is the greatest educator. Following the 
urgings of Dr. Milton E. Wilson and Dr. James Ervin, human 

John Gray, left, puzzles his audiences, shocks them and leaves them 


relations specialists, he decided to try to combat the 
overwhelming prejudices he had experienced. The result is 
the unique "Look at John Gray" presentation. 

Gray is announced as a former member of the Ku Klux Klan 
who has been invited to speak. He begins by attacking black 
people as inferior and then insults Jews, Orientals and 
women. At this point, the typical audience is up in arms, 
taunting and jeering him. 

Then Gray springs his surprise. He reveals his true race to 
the listeners and tries to stimulate their thinking about 

"I try to bring the audience through three stages of learning: 
feeling, experience and intellectualization. 

"I usually get very little immediate feedback," he said. "Most 
of my audience is in a state of shock." 

From his office at KSU's Center for Human Relations, Gray 
talked about his hopes and theories about his presentation. 

"The object is to facilitate a readiness to receive new 
thoughts about racial stereotyping. In other words, I use my 
physical appearance to jolt you into thinking about race. 

"I hope the program shows people how ridiculous all 

prejudices are, whether regarding color, sex, religion or 

Gray sees limited progress in overcoming prejudice. 

"I do see the attitude of students changing," he said. "They 
seem to be challenging more of the traditional stereotypes." 

But he said real progress would occur when people in power 
positions represent the entire mosaic of American cultures. 

Gray's lectures are not billed in advance because he feels 
publicity would ruin his effect. He said it is sometimes 
difficult to convince groups to allow him to speak because 
he is relatively unknown. 

Gray has no definite plans. He has been keeping a hectic 
schedule, speaking across the country and at military bases 
around the world. 

"Physically it's impossible for me to keep this up much 
longer," he said. He will, however, keep up his activities in 
some form. 

"You know, a lot of people don't believe me, 
"They ask me to prove I'm black. 

"I always decline. I know who I am." 

Story by John Momberg 
Photos by Thorn Warren 

he reflects. 


Delivering the goods 

Have Pie, Will Travel 

Picture KSU President Glenn Olds stepping smartly along, 
enjoying the fresh air of a sunny spring day. 

Picture Brian Anderson, past executive secretary of student 
government, enjoying a soft drink in the commuters' 
cafeteria of the Student Center on an April afternoon. 

Wham! A whipped cream pie in the face. 

Have Pie Will Travel struck again. 

The group, active last spring, comprised four students whose 
code names were Honey Pie, Sweetie Pie, Pot Pie and 
Pielatin Pie — the latter name for Paladin in the television 
program "Have Gun Will Travel." 

The pie-in-the-face service charged $5 plus pie cost for 
"delivery" of its delicious arsenal, but did not operate for 
profit. Instead, it was one of the few pie-flinging groups in 
the country to operate for charity. 

The $200 the group earned was donated to the King- 
Kennedy Foundation towards its goal of constructing a 
community center for underprivileged residents of McElrath 
Park near Ravenna. 

Roger Henry, chairperson of the King-Kennedy board, was 
himself the honored recipient of a hit. 

"They nailed me. I was shocked. They set me up by calling 
me over from playing ping-pong and I got hit as I rounded 
the corner," he recalled. 

Henry even remembered the pie's flavor — strawberry. 

"It was rather tasty. It was good for my moustache, too. It 
made it stiff," he laughed. 

Charles Greene, assistant dean for Human Relations and the 
man who helped set up Henry, got his come-uppance — 
strawberry flavored at that. 

"I had a pretty good idea I'd be hit, but I didn't know when it 
would come. I was always dressed for the occasion — no 
shirt or jacket," said Greene. 

"I had a hell of a lot of anxiety. I finally got it as I stepped 
outside my office door one day," he said. "I might have been 
angry if I had been wearing a good suit," he added. 

The possibility of angered recipients concernedthe pie-group 
and campus police. Sgt. Jeffery Spelman said only one such 
problem arose. 

"A girl was very embarrassed at a floor meeting in a dorm 
with about 100 persons present. Her $15 hairdo was 
wrecked, but Have Pie Will Travel paid for it and apologized," 
said Spelman. 

He said the group did not limit its "hits" to the campus or 
Kent, but went to Akron and "hit some businesses." 

"They were extremely cooperative," Spelman said. "I was 
impressed. They were very sincere individuals." 

Said Roger Henry: "It was different and really worthy. It did a 
lot for publicity and made people aware of King-Kennedy. 
There were articles in the Akron Beacon Journal. They had a 
lot of fun and no one got hurt." 

Story by Paul Grant. Photos by Ernie Mastroianni. 

Spelman suggested the apology and payment, preventing a 
criminal or civil suit. 


An education 
for teachers, 
a novel classroom 
for kids 

The African Liberation School helps young black people 
grow through education. 

The school began as a tutorial program sponsored by Black 
United Students (BUS) in 1969, and today reaches out to 
grade-school pupils in the Skeels, McElrath, Kent and 
Windham communities. 

KSU students enrolled in the Black Educational Developmen- 
class through the Institute for African American Affairs 
(IAAA) are responsible for teaching the classes offered by 
the school. 

The instructors attempt to create a desire to learn in the 
pupils by using innovative teaching methods. They try to 
improve basic educational skills such as reading and math 

This page, children are bused from their communities to the KSU campus. 
The aim of the African Liberation School is to help children escape poverty 
through education. Opposite page, a quiet lunch with a violent history lesson 


and provide positive experiences and examples for the 
students to encourage social growth. 

At the same time, the instructors gain an insight into the 
management and operation of an educational program. They 
are required to maintain perfect class attendance, prepare 
lesson plans for classes based on material covered the 
previous week, take weekly quizzes, participate in a crafts- 
recreation program, prepare projects and work on various 
organizational committees. 

Gary Haynes, a junior pre-law student and instructor, 
described a typical Saturday with the school. 

"It starts at 8:15 a.m. A campus bus brings the students to 
campus while the instructors are orientated. By 10 a.m. 

workshops begin and tutors vary their programs to suit the 
individual needs of their pupils. 

"The students take part in crafts and/or recreation 
programs. They are served a hot lunch in the afternoon and 
the school is over at 1 p.m." 

Evelyn Jackson, instructor of the Black Educational 
Development classes and overseer of the African Liberation 
School, discussed the future. 

"We're going to try to bridge that gap between Skeels and 
Windham and then grow." She added she hoped the 
advisory committee can promote more community 
involvement in the program. 

Jackson feels the program is worthwhile because pupils 
"keep coming back." 


"Most of them return because it's a novelty and something to 
do on Saturday," said Linda Jones, an instructor and senior 
journalism major. "It's not rigidly structured like a public 
school and in my classes, the students help one another." 

The pupils have positive reactions, too. 

Arris Mims, a 5th-grade student at Tappan Elementary 
School in Ravenna, said she came to the African Liberation 
School "to learn and enjoy myself." 

Thirty-five KSU students are crucial to the program's 
operation; some are volunteers who receive no grades, only 

Story by Diane Adrine 

Opposite page, left, tutors work closely with pupils; right, even a free-form 
school needs chalk, blackboard and an eraser to correct mistakes. This 
page, top left, tutors confer; right and bottom, after lunch, more lessons 


Two professors / two views 

Dr. F. Robert Treichler, professor of psychology, is aware of 
his reputation as a lenient grader. 

Treichler said he feels a screening process already has 
occurred by the time students reach his upper division 
psychology courses. He allows class performance to 
determine grade percentages, based on the natural cut-off 
point in score distribution. 

"I try to look for natural gaps in distribution of scores rather 
than make an arbitrary cut-off point where a student may be 
a point or two from a higher letter grade," he said. 

He also compares class performance to that during previous 
quarters, avoiding a preconceived grading schedule based 
upon strict percentages. 

Treichler feels his effectiveness in presenting classroom 

material and the usefulness of a new textbook are reflected 
by quarterly fluctuations in grades. 

One of his student noted the class was not overburdened 
with work. 

"I think he's a good teacher in that he concentrates on 
thoroughly covering a few topics rather than minimally 
covering many topics," he said. 

"His tests were on the notes, not on the outside reading 
which was just for reference. He took the classes slow and 
was receptive to questions," the student said. 

The student said Treichler's tests were somewhat difficult. 
"They required a lot of synthesis and extrapolation." 

Below: Dr. F. Robert Treichler 


"I like to be thought of as a tough grader, because the 
university demands the transcendence of past efforts," said 
Dr. Lewis Fried, an assistant professor in the English 

Fried considers his teaching successful if students leave his 
courses with an approach to literature and can take the 
social background of a novel more seriously. 

He requires students in his upper division literature courses 
to read as many as fifteen novels per quarter. Fried does not 
feel this is excessive because novels are not written in 
textbook style. 

His students have varied reactions to his book list. 

"The graduate students are pleased they've discovered the 
way to read for instance, the 20th century novel. I think after 
the initial shock, most of them discover that the list really 
isn't that difficult," he said. 

Fried has encountered problems because of his high 
classroom standards. When he was first eligible for tenure it 
was intimated tenure might be denied because of the amount 
of reading he required and the resulting high drop rate from 
his classes. 

"I didn't want to lose my job. If you don't get tenure, it's 
euphemistic for saying, 'you're fired'," he said. 

Many professors use evaluation sheets at the end of each 
quarter. Fried feels they are "fairly useless." 

"For one thing, the students already know through the 
grapevine who's good and who's bad. I think a professor can 
be served best, if an evaluation is necessary, by a peer 

Fried said his educational background has played a major 
role in formulating his present teaching policies. 

"I think every teacher, in a sense, is emulative. He absorbs 
the values of previous schooling," he said. 

Fried was graduated by Queens College of New York, where 
he also received his M.A. 

He received his Ph.D. from the University of Massachusetts. 

"I took the information under advisement. I did cut some. I 
took two or three books off the reading list. It was suggested 
the students just couldn't read that many books and that it 
was counter-productive," he recalled. 

Story by Mark Theken and Paul Grant. Photos by Mark Theken. 

Below Left: Dr. Louis Fried 


Studying strange phenomena 

Psychic research 

KSU is one of the few places carrying out psychic research 
— the study of psychic phenomena — in a physics 

"As far as I know, there are only a few others doing this work 
in physics departments in this country," said Susan Hale, 
research assistant of professor Dr. Wilbur Franklin. "Duke, 
New Mexico and Arizona are the only other ones I know of 
carrying out this work in physics departments," she said. 

The physics department here has studied clairvoyancy and 
premonition, both under the area of parapsychology, the 
study of strange phenomena, both human and nonhuman. 

Psychic researchers here last year explored interaction of 
faith healers with water to see if such religious persons could 
change the structure of water. This was done because the 
human body is 98 per cent water and the water's molecular 
structure was studied for changes. Holy water, long a 
Catholic sacramental, also was studied. 

"We're still analyzing these results. An infra-red spectroscope 
is being used to analyze the water structure," Hale said. 

"We had a woman, supposedly a local medium, try to pick a 
marble hidden in a sealed can among nine other cans which 
had steel balls in them. She predicted three time in a row 
where the marble was," Hale said. 

"It's very hard to come up with conclusive results. There is 
much testing and retesting involved to prove findings aren't 
just quirks. 

"We try to examine all the probabilities, which is difficult. 
There are so many variables. We have to check, for instance, 
a person's relationship with another person in an experiment, 
especially if they're related or friends," she said. 

Another research assistant of Franklin's, Elan Moritz, agreed 
with Hale. "We have to do extensive research, otherwise all 
groups would shoot holes in our findings." Moritz warns 
against attaching too much importance to the word 

"Some things can be explained only in terms of physical 
actions, forces, masses, elements and tangible objects. 
Phenomenon means 'not occurring very often.' Someone 


Opposite page, left, Dr. Wilbur Franklin and guest lecturer Hal Polwell confer 
about teleneural interactions; right, lights have just been turned on after 
meditation in the dark to soft music. 

This page, left, a "teleflasher" takes polaroid snapshots of students in the 
back of the classroom — one talks and one sits at the teleflasher and tries to 
communicate mentally with those whose images flash on the screen. Right, 
the man with a unique use for his retinoscope, Dr. Frederick Davidson. 

who has never seen a sunset perceives a phenomenon when 
he sees it for the first time," he said. 

"Phenomenon means having a low probability of occurrence 
in nature. The question is, can we change the probability of 
occurrence through interaction? Psychic research is still 
exploring this," Moritz said. 

Psychic research grants are scarce. One reason is the 
suspicion between physics and psychology establishments. 

"Physics people don't regard psychology as a hard science, 
and are wary of natural scientists investigating humans. The 
psychology foundations also look unfavorably on their 
people who deal with natural science," he said. 

Psychic research also investigates various forms of matter 
interaction, from human relationships with matter to matter 
relationships with matter, Moritz said. 

"For instance, it's why beer is stored in barrels rather than 
rectangles, which would be more economical," he chuckled. 
"It was found beer tasted worse in rectangles." 

Linking mind and body 

A man with a unique use for his retinoscope, a common 
device used by physicians to examine eyes, is Dr. Frederick 
Davidson, assistant professor of psychology. He does not 
look upon his retinoscope research as true psychic research. 

"People interested in psychic research think I have some 
special power," he said, shining his retinoscope, which looks 
like a strange flashlight, into my eyes. 

"I am not really doing the same thing they are," he said in 
his cramped Kent Hall office. 

"When you connect physiological activities with human 
activities, it is sometimes called psychic research. Also, 
they're looking for something to fill gaps in their knowledge, 
which is understandable," he said. 

Davidson said he discovered the retina changes hue, from 
white to pink to bright red. "Red indicates a strong emotional 
change. By noting changes while asking a series of 
questions, then recording and cross checking information, it 
is possible to detect if somebody is lying," he explained. 

"You know," he said while leaning back in his chair, "back 
in 1941, one of my professors at Temple University said the 
next scientific breakthrough will come when someone can tie 
physiological functions with mental functions." 

He said matter-of-factly, "I think I've done it." 

Stories by Paul Grant 
Photos by Dan Young 


Professing the future 

Will colleges turn into vocational schools? 

Dr. Sandra J. Hornick, 
assistant professor, 
elementary education 

My answer would be a qualified "yes," although vocational would not be used in 
the common definition of the term. 

There are still many pressures upon universities to provide each student with the 
educational program that will lead to a job. Many universities are revamping old 
programs, developing new programs to meet demands in new occupational areas 
and developing better career guidance programs. To this extent, colleges are 
rapidly becoming more "vocationally oriented" if not vocational schools per se. 

The case in point at KSU might be the slogan "thirty-two ways to learn a living." 

Dr. Richard D. Hawthorne, 
associate professor, 
elementary education 

Colleges are already viewed by students and parents as having as their central 
purpose the preparation of persons for a given range of vocational opportunities. 
This does not mean the liberating function of education is lost. It is not an 
either/ or proposition. 

Vocational preparation is premised on basic life skills. It is not done in a vacuum 
with disregard for nontask learnings. In a work-oriented society it is difficult to 
imagine support for colleges that do not provide access to the world of work. 

Dr. Naomi Simms, 
associate professor, 
elementary education 

Ever since Plato's Academy the major purpose of higher education has been 
vocational, i.e. to prepare a person for satisfactory living. The changes in higher 
education have not been so much in its purpose but in the academic structure of 
the institutions. 

The most recent structural change has been the introduction of the innovative 
field-based programs offered by several of the colleges, for example, nursing and 
education. Such programs have been criticized as promoting vocational training 
rather than vocational education. In reality, they promote professionalism. 



j^Mrttf. *r ^^Hh 

1 V ' > 4^HB 

Wf J^m 

■ '^( 

r^"' J 

What effect will collective bargaining have 
on education at KSU? 

Dr. John A. Fridy, 
acting chairperson, 
Department of Mathematics 

The effect of collective bargaining will not be felt immediately in the 
undergraduate classrooms. Although some top personnel will leave, the system 
will coast on its current momentum for a year or two. As time passes, it will 
become more difficult to get faculty members to undertake the "extra" student 
services. These duties include advising, directing individual study projects, 
writing letters of recommendation and teaching classes for ill colleagues. 

Such things will be negotiated in a master contract, and even after agreement is 
reached, the student-faculty relationship can never be the same as it is now. I 
hope and believe that the experiment of collective bargaining will be abandoned 
within a few years. 

Dr. Thomas M. Davis, 
English professor 

The educational process will be adversely affected. If the union achieves the 
support of a substantial majority of the faculty, then I suspect it wil become a 
major part of our future life. The role of the Faculty Senate will be severely 
limited, the flexibility which the faculty now has will be subsumed by union rigidity 
and students will pay — by being further excluded from any significant role in the 
way the university is run, by higher tuition and by the university's difficulties in 
attracting first-rate teachers and scholars. 

Dr. Richard S. Varga 
mathematics professor 

The faculty is split on the question of bargaining. In any future bargaining 
sessions, UFPA will at best represent one-half the faculty, and from this weak 
position I see no effective change for education at KSU for the short term. 

For the long term, if one postulates that UFPA will represent a greater portion of 
the faculty, I feel the impact would be felt in terms of raising faculty salaries at the 
expense of cutting back on quality programs. In this way, education would suffer. 
But, my guess is that the postulate is not valid. 


Will marijuana become legalized? 

Charles L. Stahler, 
ass stant professor, 
criminal justice studies 

G •■-.' Ot a s r stor cally conservative political base and legislation, I do not 
foresee the 5'.' -a ega zation of marijuana in the immediate future. Citing 
freq jent / changing and mostly contradictory medical opinions on the subject I 
question the wisdom of legislation at this time. 

.'.% 5-^ see ng — and I am in total agreement — the gradual decriminalization of 
many of the current marijuana offenses. Common sense dictates that some 
controls be piacec or m rid- or be^a/ o r -a *e r '5 s^cs'5'oes 3^: s r o,c 
such controls carry the penalty and stigma of criminal' behavior? I don't believe 
"a* e/*-e""e s r e^ r esentative of the word 'justice.' 

Harry Miller, 
associate professor, 
criminal justice studies 

don't like to use the term "legalize because this indicates societal approval. 

decriminalize" is a better word. The criminal justice department isn't the correct 
•:e:.e r tment to handle the problem. It is an educational matter within the domain 
of the educational system. 

The problem is educating people about the effects of the drug. It shouldn't be a 
problem with which the criminal justice department has to deal, but it has 
become our problem in that we have to punish the ones who use it. 

All one can hope is for the laws to be silent on the matter of marijuana use There 
is no law that says it is acceptable to drink liquor, but there is a law that says it is 
a crime to drive under the influence of it. 

B. Earle Roberts, 


Department of Criminal Justice Studies 

r iot think possession and use of marijuana will be legalized in the near future 
However the trend to decriminalize possession and personal use of marijuana is 
apparent and will continue. Specifically, the new Ohio statute making possession 
of small amounts of marijuana a minor misdemeanor' punishable by a fine of 
$100 and no jail sentence, therefore making this offense a violation rather than a 
crime, is in conformity with this direction. 


Will usage of marijuana become equal 
to that of liquor? 

Dr Stanford W. Gregory Jr.. 
ass stant professc r 
sociology, antnropo ogy 

r _:_-£ eca ;a: on of this drug will be asscc a:ec « '~ a -arxec r~ 
s:c a s:_a: ;~ ;.::c: — g ts _se = -ess_-es _rc~ re-sc-s :c _?e 

, — s _ _, _ , _ 5: . ------ -- -- -- e --_- j icreas " ec : - = :. 

.. i'StpVS su >. . r_5: 

Dr. Denzel E. Benson. 
assistant cv'essor. 
sec ology, anthropocc. 

Evan though I *c 

be eve :~a: :~e - 
alcoholic re 1 . 

of pot will s-'rass 
es :ave~ e~ ~asse 

I would predict thai cec^.e will continue to tur 
our social customs, cultural expectations a — 
c e-tec': t~e ~se c* a CCV 

re: a.<«s ac net 
tsumpt on of 

:e* rec, 
a -est .vc 

Elizabeth Mullins. 
assistant professor. 

SOC ^c> 

The likelihood of marijuara er a- ^c a cc"v as a™ 
situations is dim because the culture provides stron 
beverages in many social situations. 


Consequently. I do not think it likely that we will find people ordering a before- 
dinner marijuana smoke or stopping in their favorite marijuana oar after work. 

However, there will be individuals who will choose marijuana rather than alcoholic 
beverages as a source of relaxation in non-social situations. 


Will professional women's sports become 
as commercially popular as men's? 

Dr. Dorothy M. Zakrajsek, 


Department of Women's Physical Education 

No. I don't believe professional women's sports will ever attain the commercial 
magnitude or popularity characteristic of men's sports. 

Admittedly, women have achieved a relatively comparable professional status in 
tennis and golf. However, I do not foresee other sports as capable of capturing a 
significant share of the spectator's interest and enthusiasm. 

There is no doubt that women's sports will achieve greater visibility through 
increased support, recognition and interest which in turn will result in more 
organized sport programs at every level. 

Judith K. Devine, 
assistant professor, 
women's physical education 

I personally do not see the same future for professional women's sports as has 
been evidenced in professional men's sports. The public seems to have reached 
a saturation point in professional team sports, as evidenced by the recent 
collapse of the World Football League. 

The successful, professional woman athlete in the individual sport will be the 
exception, not the rule. In any class competition, the public wants to see the best, 
and the physiological and mechanical deficiencies inherent in the female will 
continue to relegate her to a second-class competitor. 

Dr. Michael C. Malmisur, 
associate professor, 
men's physical education 

Men's sports have certainly been successful in addressing themselves to indirect 
consumers. Sportwatching is certainly an indication of popularity, and our 
addiction will in all probability extend to the women's arena. 

Women can point with pride to recent accomplishments, and ultimately will hurdle 
their second-sex status. This will be affirmed by growing numbers of spectators 
and an increase in material rewards to the participant. 


What effect will the energy crisis have 
on the United States' and KSU's lifestyles? 

James A. Rinier, 
geography professor 

The effect on the United States' lifestyle will be mainly higher costs of 
transportation, heating fuel and heating for all types of manufacturing. The most 
important effect will be a slowdown of the rates of economic growth. 

The major effect on the university lifestyle will be a re-ordering of priorities with 
respect to the necessity of money needed for building maintenance and heating 
and electric costs. Some of these costs could be offset by a change to a 
semester system with a longer winter season break. 

Air conditioning, except for specialized laboratories and computer program 
facilities, should not be utilized if alternate ventilation facilities are available. 
Better-located parking decks and commuter facilities expedite access to classes 
and save on transportation costs. 

Dr. Herbert L. Zobel, 
associate professor, 

Persons can use less electricity, fuel for vehicles, heat for homes, and reduce 
nonessential uses of energy. Many appliances are unnecessary. Clothing can be 
selected to conform to natural climate rather than air-conditioning or heat. 

Housing can be constructed to reduce heating and cooling costs significantly. 
We must strive to find alternatives to fossil fuels and even nuclear energy, and 
use our remaining energy supplies wisely until the sun can be utilized more 

At the university, lights in halls could be reduced and those unused in 
classrooms turned off when the last person exits. 

Each person must conserve energy if lifestyles are not to change radically in a 
negative direction. 

Dr. Surinder M. Bhardwaj, 
Department of Geography 

In an automobile-oriented society, depending on the rise in the cost of petroleum 
products such as gasoline, individuals at the lower end of the economic scale will 
be much more adversely affected because their cost to reach the place of work 
from the residence will mount sharply. It may lead to an increase in carpools, 
change in residence and increased emphasis on mass transit. 

Students might gravitate toward more easily accessible institutions. Shutting off 
heat except for essential areas at the university during the holidays may save 
some money, but it will also adversely affect professors who normally find 
holidays the time for class preparations and for catching up on research and 


Making it/spending it 

"I am troubled that people believe I am 
preoccupied with money." 

This page, above, Glenn Olds' presidential lifestyle includes periodic trips to 
the statehouse in Columbus to lobby university interests; below, on board a 
university-owned plane to Columbus. 

Opposite page, left. Olds' day is filled with meetings; right. Olds practices in 
the martial arts, a discipline far-removed from his boyhood boxing career. 

As a youngster, Glenn Olds helped support his poverty- 
stricken family by boxing in curtain-raisers on the west coast. 

Today, at age 55, Olds uses much of his $51 ,500 salary as 
KSU president to help support his mother, send his two 
children to college and help people in need. 

Olds was raised on a farm in Sherwin, Ore., during the 
Depression. His father worked odd jobs for $1 a day, and 
Glenn and his brothers also were expected to work. 

The elder Olds was an expert prizefighter, and taught his 
sons to box at an early age. Olds remembers being given a 
pair of boxing gloves at the age of 6. 

Olds would box his brother in curtain-raisers, and at the end 
of four rounds would wrestle him for pennies which the 
crowd would throw. 

Young Glenn worked a variety of jobs, ranging from 
woodcutter to berry picker. He worked during high school on 
a dairy near the farmhouse, milking and caring for some 23 
cows each day. 

As president of KSU, Olds no longer has to wrestle for 
money. His $51,500 is complemented by a car donated by a 
local Oldsmobile dealer and a home provided by the 

Ironically, as a youngster, Olds never intended to go to 

"We had no contact whatsoever with anyone with means," 
he recalled. "My father's theory was that colleges just taught 
you how to get something for nothing. If you didn't earn your 
living by the sweat of your brow, somehow you were 


cheating. That point was very deep with me, so much that to 
my knowledge, I have never negotiated for salaries in my 

Olds changed his mind about college after being offered a 
scholarship to Willamette University. Scholarships, friends 
and a job as a dish washer helped Olds to earn his doctorate 
in philosophy from Yale in 1948. 

Olds has not raised his two children with their grandfather's 
philosophy about college. A hefty amount of Olds' salary 
(more than $10,000) is used to help his son and daughter 
through college. 

Linda, 29, is pursuing a doctorate in clinical psychology at 
the University of Cincinnati. Richard, 25, is in his fourth year 
of medical school at Case Western Reserve University in 

"We have tried to encourage the kids," Olds said. "I'm just 
grateful they could have the experience. If their attitude was 
'My old man owes me this' it would by different. But they're 
very humble kids, and they're gratified." 

Olds' wife, Eva, is also pursuing a doctorate in theatre and 
speech at KSU. 

Olds said many persons at the university do not appreciate 
the services of two persons for one salary. 

"Eva works full time for the university and she doesn't even 
get a 'thank you,'" he said. His wife is charged tuition for the 
courses in which she is enrolled. 

"Money is to be judged by what you do with it," Olds said. "I 
have always had the feeling that you ought to make the most 
of what you have for others. Nothing thrills me more than 

making that investment. That's what life is all about." 
Occasionally he gets burned. Last year he loaned a woman 
$5,000. She left town, leaving a long string of debts behind. 

But Olds prides himself on giving much of his salary to 
others. He still supports his mother, 76, who lives in Oregon. 
He also lends money to friends and family members in need. 

"I was literally saved by people who believed in me," Olds 
said, "so that is what I've tried to do with my life. Finding 
people, betting on people, supporting people." 

Unlike many persons with high salaries, Olds does not list his 
contributions to individuals on his income tax return. 

"That makes me an old-fashioned conservative in regard to 
those matters, but I believe no service comes free. I don't 
like the distribution of that tax dollar by Uncle Sam, but I do 
not protest trying to give more to provide the essential 
services that are required." 

Olds said he is sometimes troubled by persons who complain 
about his high salary. 

"I believe that on a comparable basis I'm not overpaid, 
compared to other universities of this size," he said. "I have 
turned down jobs that pay double this. 

"I am troubled that people believe I am preoccupied with 
money, but I judge it by what I do with it. I couldn't justify it if 
it wasn't multiplying my effectiveness to serve. 

"I believe that Mrs. Olds and I are the kind of people that 
would be happy if we didn't have to have a concern for 
money at all." 

Story by William Miller 
Photos by Alan Keicher 


"Anything I want to do I usually have the 
money for." 

Cathy Murphy, a member of Chi Omega sorority, receives her 
college funds from four different sources. 

Cathy's parents pay $360 per quarter for her room and board 
at the sorority house, where she lives with 18 other girls. 

Cathy is a junior business major. Her parents also pay her 
tuition fees. 

Cathy works five days a week in the sorority kitchen for $7.50 
per week. She also makes $50 at the beginning of each 
quarter by working three days at drop and add. 

The remainder of Cathy's funds comes from a cashier job. 
She works during the summer and at Christmas for $115 per 
week. It totaled $1200 last summer. 

Cathy says she decides how much of her summer earnings 
she will need for each quarter and puts that amount in her 
savings account. 

At the beginning of each summer, the Rocky River native 
buys a car to drive back and forth to work, but sells it before 
school starts in the fall. 

"I don't need a car here at KSU," she says. "Everything is 
within walking distance." 

Cathy spends about $8 per week on cigarettes and pop. 
"I'm a heavy smoker," she admits. 

She also spends about $8 per week at parties and regular 
visits to the Krazy Horse Lounge, and about $30 per month 
on clothes, especially shirts and tops. 

Cathy says money isn't her biggest worry. 

"Anything I want to do I usually have the money for," she 
says. "By the end of the quarter I have about $10 left." 

This page, left, Cathy Murphy at a regular visit to the Krazy Horse Lounge; 
right, on the job in the sorority kitchen. Opposite page, John Rank at work 


"You only live once and you can't take it 
with you." 

Sophomore John Rank lives in a super-single in Koonce Hall. 
He is an architecture student and his college funds come 
from his parents. 

Besides his $380 per quarter room fee, John also receives 
about $40 per week for food, bars and materials for his 
architecture projects, on which he spends about $70 per 

John buys his food and prepares his own meals. "I buy a lot 
of hamburger, chicken, salads and ham. I love to cook and to 
do it all from scratch. Usually I make a big batch of 
something and eat it for a week," he said. 

John says his favorite restaurants, however, are Burger Chef, 
and when he is in an expensive mood, Arby's. He usually 
eats out five or six times a week. 

John earns $15 a night working occasionally at the Krazy 
Horse Lounge. During the summer he works in landscaping, 
earning about $2,500. 

With that money and a loan from his parents he bought a 
$3,500 Audi, a four-door sedan. 

John pays $60 per quarter membership dues to Sigma Alpha 
Epsilon fraternity, but says he makes up the cost in fringes, 
especially beer. 

During the winter he spends his money at Peak 'N' Peek, and 
during the summer he water-skies, swims, goes scuba diving 
and plays golf. "I hate to sit on my butt," he said. 

"I don't buy much clothing," he said. "I don't like the idea of 
going shopping. I usually wait until the clothes fall off me and 
then go buy a bunch of shirts and pants." 

John summed up his attitude about money: 

"You only live once and you can't take it with you." 

Stories by Robert Lebzelter 
Photos by Alan Keicher 

"I don't regret that I've had to pay my way. I 
wouldn't want things given to me." 

It costs Larry Berlan $5 every two months to feed his dog 
Caribou, a fine-looking animal, white with tan spots and sad 

Larry and Caribou live in a semi-rundown yet cozy white 
house on South Willow Street. The green trim around the 
windows is in need of a touch-up. It costs Larry $70 per 
quarter to live there. It's not quite the Ritz, said Larry, but he 
likes to call it home. 

In that two-story house, Larry lives with six other guys who 
share the expense of purchasing food and split the rent and 
utility bills. When schedules permit, the housemates eat 
together. It's cheaper that way, Larry said. 

The kitchen in Larry's house is distinctly quaint. An open, 
rickety, wooden shelf, which holds almost every kind of 
canned food imaginable, dominates one wall. Opposite the 
shelf sit two venerable refrigerators that appear to date to 
the Depression. A pitcher of luke-warm cherry Kool-aid rests 
on a tired-looking kitchen table. A couple of sugar-streaked 

glasses flank the pitcher. 

Larry drives a 1967 Chevy. He has owned a car since he 
was a senior in high school. All have been priced in the 
$125-$200 range, he said, and he does his own repairs. 

Larry's dress is anything but extravagant. He said he owns 
six work shirts, three pairs of jeans and a pair of tennis 

To maintain this "glamorous" lifestyle during the past two 
and one-half years, Larry has had to struggle. Until his father 
paid his tuition fall quarter, Larry had paid his own way 
through two years at KSU. Summer jobs, part-time work and 
food stamps enabled him to maintain his independence. 

"My old man hasn't been able to help me much because he's 
got eight kids and just doesn't have the money," Larry 
explained. "I don't regret that I've had to pay my way. You 
know, my old man bred independence in all of us since we 
were old enough to push a lawn mower. I wouldn't want 
things given to me. 


"I saved $2,300 through my life to pay for my first year of 
school," he added, a touch of pride in his voice. 

After his freshman year, Larry lived with his parents in Euclid 
during the summer and made "real good money" working in 
a factory. 

When he returned to KSU in fall 1974, he worked part time at 
a gas station in Streetsboro. He worked 18-20 hours weekly 
from October through May. 

Last summer when Larry returned to Euclid to look for work 
again, he found only a low-paying job at the same gas 
station at which he worked when he was in high school. 

"I couldn't find work anywhere else — the economic 
situation, I guess. The job really sucked. I worked 51 hours a 
week and only took home about $97 a week." 

Larry receives $48 a month in food stamps. 

"I get them (food stamps) legally. My parents don't claim me 
on their taxes and I don't have to lie about how much money 
I make," he said. 

Where does Larry spend his money? 

"I spend it going out, on gas, buying booze and smokes 
once in awhile," he said. "I never spend money on clothes. 
They're too expensive." 

Larry, an industrial arts major, said a combination of lack of 
money and dwindling interest in classwork resulted in a 
tentative decision to quit school at the end of fall quarter. 

"I like living here but I need a break from school," he said. "I'm 
trying to line up a job back home. I'll spend some time up 
there and some down here. I'm even thinking about going to 
Atlanta with some friends and finding a job down there." 

Story by Jeffrey Bell 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 

Opposite page, left, Larry's food bills are eased by food stamps and sharing 
meals with roommates. This page, left, summer jobs and part-time work 
maintain his financial independence; right, at home. 


Weeding out inflation 

University land was offered free to students, faculty and 
townspeople to help fight a 12.5 per cent cost-of-living 
increase by growing their own vegetables. 

Originally 17 plots were planned; more than 300 persons 
responded. They weren't turned down. 

An area behind Allerton Apartments was plowed and disked 
by the university grounds department. Once farmland, the 

ground was donated to KSU by the William S. Kent family 
and was last tilled in 1961 to grow corn to feed campus 

To educate the gardeners who would be recouping the long 
dormant land, a new organization formed, Plant Lovers 
United of Kent (PLUK). It held seminars at which speakers 
provided information on soil and weather conditions, care 
and maintenance and tips on the crops best-suited for 
northeastern Ohio. 

Gardeners went to work, supplying their own seeds, tools 
and fertilizers. But the summer weather sprouted problems 

Inllutlon guidons woio bogun us an ollml In light Iho cost ot living Inrioaso 
I linn lott to light, tho guidons woio plantod, watoiod and cuiltlvatod llolow, a 
woniy gaidonoi loans on his boo 

as well as plants. No watering facilities were provided at the 
garden sites because of their experimental nature. 

"The cost of installing a water line to land that may not be 
used for gardening again would be an expenditure that could 
not be justified," explained Jacob Urchek, coordinator for 
the garden program. 

Gardeners had two solutions: They could carry water to the 
gardens by hand and hope for rain. They did both during a 
dry spell in June. To add insult to injury, heavy rain nearly 
devastated the area from late August through September. 
Still there were plenty of results. 

"I can't complain about (too. homegrown lood," said Dim 
gaidonoi "I novel thought I'd gel anythini) ol substance 
from the $270 tuition fees." 

Story by William Mnushoy rholos liy William ( iioon 


Creative Arts Festival: 
Luring artists with peanuts 

Is the KSU Creative Arts Festival dead? Although Tom 
DeNapoli, festival arts committee chairperson, doesn't exactly 
say so, it is evident he is disappointed in the direction it's 

The week-long "condensed artist-lecture series," as 
DeNapoli describes it, is suffering from the same highly 
contagious disease that plagues all of Kent State University 
— budget cuts. 

"They (the university) expect me to beg top-name artists to 
appear here for peanuts," says DeNapoli. 

"Peanuts," in this case is a $5,000 budget, he says. 

While that may not seem like "peanuts," it is when compared 
to its past allocations. The nine-year-old event once had a 
budget of $15,000 or better. Just two years ago the figure 
was $9,000 and the 1975 festival had $6,000. 

A top-name artist will charge $1,200 plus expenses for an 
appearance. Some artists are contracted to conduct at least 
one workshop, and the committee hopes interested students 
will have access to the artist. 


DeNapoli laments that while his committee's budget declines, 
costs such as air fare, room and board and publicity rise. 

Dr. Robert J. Bertholf, an assistant professor of English who 
has assisted at some past festivals, is also upset about 
insufficient funds. 

"The creative artistic community has always had the least 
political influence when it comes to budget matters," says 
Bertholf. "That's why they are the easiest to cut." 

DeNapoli says he tries to get as much variety as possible in 
the artists selected. 

"I cover as many of the arts as I'm financially able," says the 
senior journalism major. "The bulk of my festivals have 
revolved around filmmaking and the visual arts because 
that's where my interests lie and I felt that these areas had 
been overlooked in the past." 

The 1975 festival included three persons involved in visual 

Phil Leonian, a commercial photographer; Scott Bartlett, an 



Opposite page, left, the National Theatre Company presented "Feehn' 
Good," an historical review of the black man's influence on American music; 
right, experimental filmmaker Scott Bartlett; this page, top, a member of 
Dialogue, experimental musicians; bottom, members of The Boston Tea 
Party, an improvisational group, and right, Prairie Fire, a revolutionary 
singing duo, sings of the struggles and experiences of working class people. 

experimental filmmaker, and Jim Bridges, a Hollywood film 
director and screen-writer visited KSU. 

For musical interests, the committee brought "Dialogue," a 
group DeNapoli says is "unique, combining music, theatre 
and comedy." Their festival appearance included an outdoor 
concert in the Student Center plaza. 

Another music feature was the National Black Theatre 
Company, whose show traced black music history in 

The other festival performers were the improvisational 
theatre group "The Boston Tea Party," and the Kent Acting 
and Touring Company's "Godspell" production. 

Last year's festival had attendance problems that DeNapoli 
partially blames on the Daily Kent Stater. 

"We couldn't fit the workshop times and places on our 
posters, so we said to see the DKS. They printed some 
wrong times that were definitely a detriment to the festival," 
he explained, angered that the errors appeared in paid 
-"• ~ing. 

DeNapoli doesn't blame the DKS entirely for the festival's 
poor attendance. 

"A majority of students aren't interested in creative or 
performing arts," he says. Then he gets angry, and says 
bitterly, "I'm doing this festival for those who do care and 
who'll show up." 

DeNapoli is to graduate in June 1976 or soon after. What 
does he think will be the fate of the Creative Arts Festival? 

"It's a rare bird and probably will be extinct in a few years," 
he says. "And money is the main reason. But the fact that 
it's free is one of the things that makes it so worthwhile." 

He harbors one last hope for the festival. 

"If somebody with much more time can get all the 
departments to pool all the campus financial resources, that 
could save it." 

Story by Harry Zimmerman 


Blossom Festival School: 
Summer-study of the experts 

.-, %~ 

Summer is a time to get away from books and studying for 
most students, but some, if they qualify, can study under 
experts in their field through the Blossom Festival School. 

Art, music, theatre and dance students participate in the 
program which was begun in 1967 to promote greater 
student involvement in the arts. 

Music students play in ensembles and study under Cleveland 
Orchestra musicians at Blossom Music Center, summer 
home of the orchestra. More than 400 participated last year, 
including a select group of high school graduates who could 
attend because of a $35,000 grant from Ford Foundation. 
Their first impression of college didn't include dull, freshman 
requirements outside their major. 

Porthouse Theatre, on the center grounds, drew audiences 
from Akron and Cleveland to student productions like "Two 
Gentlemen of Verona" and "Man of La Mancha." Students 
gained experience in everything from lighting to acting to 


ticket selling. Dance students participated in the program 
through the theatre department. 

An art gallery opened on the Blossom grounds this summer 
as a showcase for the works of KSU students, faculty and 
visiting artists in the program. 

Inflation is taking its toll on many of the programs because 
although funding has not been slashed, costs have risen. A 
three-year grant from the Ford Foundation Venture Fund was 
exhausted in 1975. Student scholarships and grants were the 
first to feel the pinch. Still, Blossom School administrators 
hope to obtain more university funds to make the program a 
year-round offering. 

Story by James Quinn 
Photo by Paul Davis 

Blossom Festival School music students in concert at the opening of the 
William J. Eells Art Gallery on the grounds of Blossom Music Center. 

Artist-Lecture Series: 
A change of program 

In the attic apartment of an old house, a young man puts his 
pen down and walks across the kitchen to the wooden 
cupboard. Tea bags, peanut butter, bread, flour. He 
scratches his belly and checks the refrigerator. Mayonnaise, 
ice cubes, water, a can of pork and beans. He takes the 

He shuffles back to the table and rearranges the rejection 
slips from the morning's mail. 

(Scene fades) 

The picture changes to an obscure office on the fourth floor 
of the Administration Building. A slim woman, her hair in a 
braided knot atop her head, discusses the Artist-Lecture 

The woman is Joanna Harley, director of the Artist-Lecture 
Series. She makes phone calls to contract people of cultural 
note, coping with a budget that has been cut by two-thirds 
since 1970. 

Artists'fees have jumped by as much as 125 per cent in the 
last year. "We've had to reduce the number of performers 
and change the character of the entire program, trying to 
maintain the quality," Harley said. 

Artists no longer are hired for a single performance, but for 
an extended period of time which includes classes and 
workshops as well as performances. 

The Bella Lewitzki Dance Company was in residence in 
November. Actor Kevin McCarthy and soprano Phyllis Curtin 
of the Metropolitan Opera were to visit winter quarter. Also 
on the program were cellist Janos Starker, art historian H. W. 
Janson, comedian Lily Tomlin and jazz musician Cat 

Allotted university funds and grants used for meeting 
contracts have not been sufficient to meet the past year's 
needs and the program has had to dip into its financial 
reserves, she said. The reserves are almost gone. "Even if 
we get the same allocation from the university next year, 
we're in trouble. We're wondering how we're going to 
program," said Harley. 

The screen fades and becomes gray. The image of the 
young writer at the table reappears. He holds a strip of pink 
paper in front of him and does not move. 

"Sir: We regret to inform you of the rejection of your 
submitted manuscript. We do not feel that there is presently 
a market for — " 

He crumples the paper and lights a cigarette. 

Story by Robert Tomsho 
Photo courtesy News Service 

Dancer and choreographer Bella Lewltzky was artist in residence Nov. 17-22. 


Kent Acting and Touring Company: 
The Godspell of survival 

Five weeks of rehearsal, two weekends of performances and 
your normal university theatre show is finished. The student 
actors return to the everyday business of sociology and 
English, exams and term papers. 

Professional theatre is different. Last summer the members 
of the Kent Acting and Touring Company (KATC) ate, drank 
and slept theatre; in short, lived the lives of on-the-road 

Fourteen persons, all but one a KSU student or former 
student, traveled in an old, remodeled school bus and a van. 
They performed 65 times in 21 southern Ohio cities and 
hamlets. All in nine weeks. 

"It was the first time I had ever toured and it was an 
incredible, incredible, learning experience," says James 
Thornton, director of the company. 

KATC's touring show was "Godspell," the rock musical 
version of the gospel according to St. Matthew. The talent 

was picked by the director after spring auditions. 

Thornton rebuts criticism that he is competing with the 
educational theatre for talent. "This is a different kind of 
theatre, for a different purpose," he says. "I think it's like a 
town with more than one newspaper. I believe the more 
theatres you have, the better the theatre is." 

Touring with a show, performing in a different theatre every 
night, is a difficult undertaking. "Godspell" played in 
churches, in sanctuaries that were anything but stages, and 
adaptations had to be made. 

"It's fantastic, an incredible trainer," says Thornton, who 
feels the group adapted like professionals. "Actors are used 
to doing a show where the lamp is always in the same place 
or a dance is always done in the same area." 

Junior theatre major Carl Benton, the show's choreographer 
and the man whom Thornton calls "the key to the show's 
aesthetic conception," describes his impressions of the 


Kent Acting and Touring Company performs "Godspell" on the steps of the 
Student Center. Opposite page, standing, cast members Jackie Noll, Marci 
Maullar, Chip Norwood, John Hicks; front row, Dan Boggess, Eve Obirlin, 
Sheila Crowley, Denise Christy, Gary McCann; not pictured, David Pritty. This 
page, bottom left, front row, Jackie Noll, John Hicks, Sheila Crowley; middle 
row, Marci Maullar, Dan Boggess, Denise Christy; back, Eve Oberlin. Right, 
from left to right, John Hicks, Chip Norton, Gary McCann. 


company. By the end of the summer, he says, the actors 
were thinking as one unit. "You could feel it — a magic on 

Fourteen different persons, living and working together 24 
hours a day, sometimes had personality conflicts, but 
Thornton says the group's professional attitude helped to 
overcome the problem. "Whatever they felt about each other 
personally, they loved each other on stage," he says. 

The company's major gripes concerned the administration of 
the tour. Thornton agrees that many, many mistakes were 
made, but blames them on his touring inexperience. 

One of the biggest complaints was about salary. The actors 
made just under $500 for the nine weeks, but some weeks 
they were paid just $20. 

"It was a profit-sharing company," says Thornton. "Looking 
back, we survived just on box office receipts. Few companies 
can do that." 

Room and board were provided the company, but 
occasionally when people did not open their homes to the 
cast, the actors slept on or under church pews, or on church 

"I'm not a businessman, I'm a director," says Thornton. 
"Much of it had to be learned by experience and could have 
been planned a little better." 

Despite the complaints, one actor at least has grown 
from that summer. 

"I learned more about theatre than I have ever learned 
before," says senior theatre major Eric Kornfeld. "And a lot 
about people from all different backgrounds. It's really cool 
to go through something like that." 

Story by Harry Zimmerman 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 


Franklin Theatre Workshop: 
"Home" for awhile 

When the Rockwell theatres were moved to Franklin Hall last 
spring, the move produced barely a ripple within the 
university community, but an uproar was generated by the 
decision to move the administrative offices to Rockwell. 

For those involved in university theatre, however, it was 
another in a series of frustrating events that began in 1960. 
For like the Greek tragic hero Odysseus, these theatresare 
having a hard time making their way home. 

Originally, plans had called for the Music and Speech 
Building to house all the university theatres. But money grew 
scarce and construction was halted after the E. Turner 
Stump Theatre was built. 

Stump Theatre became university theatre's showcase. Shows 
produced there were fairly well known, faculty directed and 
given prime budget consideration. Student-directed or 
experimental productions were relegated to a basement 
dungeon known as the Cellar Theatre. 

"They told us back in 1960 that the building would be 
completed in a few years," says Dr. William H. Zucchero, 
head of the theatre department. 

The university's "promises, promises" have yet to be fulfilled. 

By spring 1971, the university realized the inadequacy of the 
Cellar Theatre and space was donated in Rockwell Hall. 
Although no money was allocated for the move, three 
theatres eventually were improvised on the second floor. 

For five years, students had to cope with old, crowded and 
leaky facilities, hallways which were an eyesore and poor 

"It didn't really upset us," says Zucchero. "I recognized the 
move as being only temporary." The important thing, he 
says, is that there was a laboratory for student productions. 

But when the university dealt with its own space problems by 

consolidating offices in Rockwell, the theatres were once 
again homeless. 

The basement of Franklin Hall, a building as old as Rockwell 
and having similar structural problems, was offered as a 

Zucchero says it is adequate as a temporary facility. 

"What can you do?" he says. "If we say we're not going to 
carry on at all, it's going to hurt the program. But if we make 
do with what we have, the university might think our facilities 
are satisfactory." 

Alan W. Benson, director of the Franklin Theatre Workshop, 
is not happy about the move but is consoled by the few 
improvements, such as a more permanent lighting system. 

He says student productions have improved. "We now look 
at the shows done here as major productions, just as great 
as Stump," says Benson. 

Budget cuts have been accepted in the theatre community 
as a fact of life, but they obviously have hurt. Zucchero 
quotes a five-year budget reduction from a healthy $20,000 
to $3,600. The university insists the addition to Music and 
Speech is within the top three items on its lists of priorities. 

"You just have to look at it all with a sense of humor," says 
Benson. "I believe the workshop theatres are fulfilling their 
function. The most important thing is that it's been 

"But we won't be satisfied till we're back in Music anc 

Story by Harry Zimmerman 
Photos by Jack Radgowski 

Top left, "The Return of Sgt. Fenshaw" ; Top right, "The Rimers of Eldritch' 
initiated the Franklin Theatre Workshop 



The art of moving pictures 

Movies usually are considered a form of entertainment, with 
emphasis on stars and plots. Tuesday Cinema for five years 
has been showing a kind of expanded cinema, the result of 
the use of film by poets and artists as a vehicle of 

Tuesday Cinema received a grant winter quarter 1976 from 
the National Endowment for trie Arts that allowed it to 
present filmworks, a broad-based program of experimental 
and independently made films, free of charge. Themes for 
each evening ranged from classic experimental works to 
women's films. 

The intent was to reach an audience that until now has been 
exposed mostly to Hollywood-style movies, as well as to 
provide an intensive study for student filmmakers. Six 
filmmakers were to visit the campus to present, discuss and 
explain their films. 

Their work might be avant-garde, such as that of Tony 
Conrad, who boils and bakes film, or documentaries by 
Albert Maysels, who films a subject objectively, allowing a 
powerful personality study to be exposed. 

Photos by Thorn Warren 

Above, Tony Conrad experiments with film out of context of cameras and 
projectors. Here, he connected film, attached it to a microphone and played 
it to the audience; right, documentarist Albert Maysels lectures. 


Pan-African festival 
Celebrating black 

Black students joined in a celebration of the world's 

black cultures when the Institute for African American Affairs 

presented its second annual Pan-African festival May 31. 

It was a perfect day, weather-wise, and the festival was 
outside on the green grass. To the tune of African 
drumbeats, a breakfast of banana pancakes began the day's 

Mini language workshops were held in Swahili and Yoruba, 
poetry was read and Dr. Robert Stull of Ohio State University 
spoke of the survival of black art. 

The African Arts Workshop presented a modern dance with 
exotic costumes designed by the class, and the KSU Gospel 
Choir gave a soul-stirring concert. Fashion shows and art 
exhibits were held while traditional African games were 

The festival ended with an evening "family-style" meal of 
African and West Indian dishes. 

Story and photos by Diane Adrine 




Jazz Lab Band: 
Swinging with the best 

The KSU Jazz Lab Band keeps some pretty fancy company 
in the music world — just ask Sammy Davis Jr., Buddy Rich, 
Henry Mancini, Maureen McGovern or the O'Jays. All of them 
have used or are using musicians who have played with the 
lab band. 

Dr. Walter Watson, a codirector, says the band has produced 
more good professional musicians than any school with a 
comparable jazz program. 

The band has performed at a number of Midwest collegiate 
jazz festivals, recorded four albums and played with 
musicians like Dizzy Gillespie, Clark Terry and Joe Williams. 
Its peak of success, Watson believes, came in 1969-1970 
when the band performed at the internationally known 
Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland. 

"Often with bands, you'll have many players who have only a 
passing interest in music with no burning desire to excell," 
he said. "But in this year's band, we have a lot of fine 
players and quite a few individuals who have a desire to play 
music professionally whether on the road with a band, or as 
arrangers or studio musicians." 

The band includes individuals like trumpeter Jeff Wilson, who 
also plays for the musical production at the Coliseum; tenor 
sax Bernard Watt, who left the band in February to play with 
the O'Jays and John Orsini, who became the lab band's 
codirector in the fall after a five-month tour with the Glenn 
Miller orchestra. Orsini also plays for musical acts at the 
Front Row Theatre. 

Big band jazz, such as the lab band plays, is always vibrant 
and musically stimulating. It needs good musicians, good 
charts and good improvisers. The swing and intensity 
created by the 22 musicians, the punch provided by its horn 
section and the solid backing of its rythm section gave the 
lab band's performances a great potential. The band plays 
everything from modern Buddy Rich or Maynard Ferguson 
arrangements available commercially, to old jazz standards 
arranged by band members. 

The band averages only a couple of university concerts a 
year because of its desire not to wear out its welcome. 

Story by Ron Kovach 
Photo by Stu Bernstein 


Fire on Water: 
End of an era 

At 6:59 p.m., December 3, Bart Johnson called in a fire 
alarm. By 9 p.m. Johnson and many others had lost their 
jobs. The fire destroyed the Water Street Saloon, where 
Johnson played bass guitar with the band Good Company. 

Johnson and Mary DuShane, Good Company's fiddler, had 
just finished a rehearsal when they noticed smoke seeping 
up from the basement Kove. 

Fire officials said an electrical short near a gas heater 
caused the blaze, which gutted the Saloon and the Kove and 
damaged Pirate's Alley, also in the building. 

Fifty firemen battled until noon the next day to put the fire 
out. No one was injured but the losses ran more than 
$270,000 and one band. 

All three bars were owned by Robert Petrie and were not 
insured. Petrie estimated the damages at more than 


Below, Robert Petne, owner of the Water Street Saloon, Kove and Pirates 
Alley, takes a break at the bar of the Kove during its demolition, Ralph 
Showers, manager, is in the background. 

Good Company and 15-60-75, which played in the Kove, lost 
most of their equipment in the fire. The two bands estimated 
losses of $20,000. 

Good Company disbanded as a result of the fire and 
personality conflicts; 15-60-75 now plays at J.B.'s. 

The loss of the bars is perhaps greater than the monetary 
loss. The Kove, the Saloon, Pirate's Alley and the whole 
Water Street "strip" attracted people from Cleveland, Akron 
and Youngstown. Doormen estimated an average Friday and 
Saturday night crowd to be 600 at the Saloon, 700 at the 

Also lost was the only place in Kent that donated space for 
free community dinners. 

Although the town will carry on and the crowds will drink, 
dance and party elsewhere, the fires mark the end of an era 
of good time and good company. 

Story by Matthew Flanagan 


Jethro Tull: 

The makings of a concert 

T -1» 


Opposite page, top left, setting up for the Jethro Tull concert, Oct. 24, began 
at 10 a.m. with sweeping the floor of Memorial Gym; top right, about noon, 
the tarpaulin covers the floor and the first buttresses for the stage have been 
set up; bottom left, Tod Clemons, left, and the fire marshal, right, decide what 
to do about an emergency exit blocked by the stage; bottom right, Tull's 
contract specified a fork life be used to lift speakers. 

This page, left, Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull; right, playing to a capacity 

Photos by Jack Radgowski 



Concerts, plays and speakers 

This page, top left, America, April 27, 1975; top right, Stokely Carmichael, 
May 10, 1975; right. Linda Ronstadt, May 11, 1975; opposite page, top left, 
Fleetwood Mac, September 24, 1975; bottom left, Michael O'Brien and ' 
Valerie Vess in "Born Yesterday"; right, Camille Yarbrough, October 21 , 




Opposite page. Tod Rundgren. October 29, 1975; this page, below, National 
Lampoon Executive Editor P. J. O'Rourke, November 4, 1975; right, "Inherit 
the Wind," November 13, 1975. 


This page, Angel in concert with Roxy Music, Feb, 15, 1976; opposite page, top left 

and bottom, members of Martin Bogan and Armstrong at the 9th Annual Folk 

Festival, Feb. 20 and 21, 1976; top right, "Peg Leg Sam" stole the show with his 

improvised harmonica playing, life stories and soft shoe routine at the folk 

festival. A member of Martin Bogan and Armstrong is in the background. 


This page, top, members of the Kamal Alim Quintet 

in concert Feb. 17, 1976, bottom, "Tambourines to 

Glory," produced by the Black Drama Workshop, 

dealt with gambling, drinking and playing at the 

Tambourine Temple. The play opened Feb. 29 in 

the Mbari Mbayo Theatre. Opposite page, Pat Pace 

in concert, Feb. 3, 1976 



"An era of forgetfulness" 

May 4, 1975 

What if they ended a war and no one came? 

The left fielder trotted in for an easy catch, ending the fifth 
inning of a pick-up softball game on the Commons. Tennis 
players nearby sharpened their skills for a long summer of 
lobs and slams. A pair of basketballers grew sweaty and 
fatigued on the Johnson Hall court. 

May 3, 1975. The eve of the fifth anniversary. 

Handbills proclaimed it a day to celebrate the victories of the 
peoples of Vietnam. The defeat of U.S. imperialism. The 
chance for rebirth in Southeast Asia. 

On the podium: A gathering of antiwar activities and a 
reunion of Kent State's seemingly ageless radicals. 

Red, blue and gold — the banner of the National Liberation 
Front — hung limp but proud in the still spring air, 
punctuating the small group of the faithful, the curious and 
the media surrounding the speakers' stand. Near the Victory 
Bell a contingent of Yippies — visitors for the occasion — 
talked loudly, passing hashish and wine around their circle. 

Folksinger and author Kathy Kahn repeatedly warned her 
listeners she would not continue until the crowd was quiet. 

The "crowd" of about 200 came to attention only during the 
keynote address of Jesuit peace activist of Rev. Daniel 
Berrigan. During nearly a dozen other speeches, the 
audience chatted, socialized, toyed with their flags and 
dodged roaming photographers. 

Berrigan said he hoped May 4 commemoration activities 
would "talk of the future — not just burying the dead." 

"The futures of the United States and Southeast Asia have 
been reborn" with South Vietnam's surrender, he said. 

Six hours later in the Prentice Hall parking lot, about 700 
gathered to witness dedication of the replacement memorial 
marker, purchased through faculty donations. The original 
memorial plaque was stolen May 3, 1974 and was found May 
2, 1975 pierced with bullet holes. 

Before the traditional candlelight march preceding the vigil 
on sports where the four students died, the Rev. Ogden 
White of the Presbyterian Church and Rabbi Gerald Turk of 
Hillel House offered prayers of dedication. 

White asked the audience to meditate on "our hopes, our 
hurts, our angers, our fears and our lives. Others brought 
these same things to this place at another time. 

•'t — -- ■•■■ -i 


^ — ^— 




u. H-JKt^yu 


This page, left; folksinger Kathy Kahn sings before a sparse turnout for the 
peace rally on the Commons; right, the Rev Daniel Berrigan Opposite page, 
left, led by Dr. Jerry Lewis, Arthur Krause, Michelle Klein, and Peter Davies, 
candle-bearers wind a path around Front Campus; right, a silent figure 
watches the candlelight vigil for slain student Jeffery Miller 


We fear remembering and returning. May God strengthen 
what we brought to this place tonight." 

Led by Arthur Krause, father of slain student Allison; 
Michelle Klein, graduate counselor at the Center for Peaceful 
Change; Peter Davies, author of "The Truth About Kent 
State" and Dr. Jerry Lewis, sociology professor, the march 
across the muddy Commons began. 

As about 4,000 candle-bearers wound a path around Front 
Campus, the solemn mood was threatened; for some, it was 
destroyed. Motorists on Man Street — some visitors to Kent 
for the Eagles rock concert earlier that evening — taunted 
marchers with voices and horns. In a fiery display, torch- 
bearing Yippies ran through the crowd and down the hillside 
amidst "Yip, yip, Yippies!" whoops until they were restrained 
and order was restored by marshals. 

Back at the Prentice Hall lot, march leaders reached their 
destinations and began the vigil. 

The television lights clicked on, strobes flashed in the 
darkness — catching a tear here, a prayer there. The night 
sky was a chilling blanket, thinning the crowd to a core of 
srlence and candle flames. Memories. Meditations. Emotions. 
The past. The future. The present. 

Sunday morning, May 4, 1975, was rainy and cold. Few 
campers remained on the Commons when the first university- 
sponsored interdenominational church service in honor of 
the four dead students began in a Taylor Hall classroom. 

The service focused on reasons for the gathering and read 
in part: 

"The questions and answers are worth remembering. We 
memorialize the event to bring those questions and answers 
to our minds again. And today, on the same day, in the same 
place, we look again at man and at ourselves in the presence 
of God." 

Keynote speaker at the May 4 Memorial Committee's noon 
gathering in the Ballroom was Eugene McCarthy, presidential 
candidate and former senator from Minnesota. 

The white-haired '76 hopeful tackled problems of the 
economy and unemployment during his speech, but struck 
home with the crowd of about 1 ,000 when he said the 
"righteous and arrogant" attitude of United States 
involvement in Vietnam was carried over into handling of 

Also on the podium, former nun Elizabeth McAllister said 

Memories. The past. The future. The present 

May 4 "has already been forgotten by most people in this 
country, as well as by most students at Kent State." 

walked out when Grace labeled the victims of May 4 "martyrs 
for the Cambodian people." 

The only hope for America is in "remembering Vietnam. 
Were entering into an era of forgetfulness, actually 
intensifying a process that began with World War II," he said. 

Calling the United States a country that "idolizes death," the 
wife of activist and former priest Phillip Berrigan said, "Our 
society is so committed to death that it killed some of its own 
citizens because they wouldn't join in its idolatry." 

Dr. Michael Lunine condemned the use of violence to end 
violence and called the KSU Center for Peaceful Change "a 
precious, living, fertile memorial to the dead and wounded." 

Denouncing gun control as a governmental method to 
remove weapons from "the hands of the people," Grace 
emphasized anti-imperialism, "bring the war home" 

Follow-up speakers from the Revolutionary Student Brigade 
and Vietnam Veterans Against the War saw the crowd 
dwindle as heckling increased. 

The former dean of the Honors and Experimental College 
cited KSU as a microcosm of the "real world," and said 
campus people are the most valuable individuals in society. 

"The whole university and world should by a place for the 
study of peaceful change," he said. 

Receiving the most mixed reaction was Tom Grace, one of 
the nine wounded students. Some in the crowd waved NLF 
flags in support, others shouted disapproval and some 

Story by Keith Sinzinger 

Left, former Sen. Eugene McCarthy spoke of the "righteous and arragant 
attitude" of the United States' handling of Vietnam and students; right, some 
shouted disapproval, others waved NLF flays in support as Tom Grace 
labeled the slain students "martyrs for the Cambodian people." 

"The questions and answers are worth 

An acquittal and an appeal 

It was a bitter day for Arthur Krause. The trial was over. 

"They have just destroyed the most wonderful document 
ever made by man. Thanks to them murder by the state is 
correct. The Constitution does not protect anyone against 
armed barbarians." 

The jury ruled against Krause. It was not the first time. But it 
may have been the last. More than five years after Allison 
Krause and three other students were slain on the Kent 
campus, the courtroom drama had reached its peak. The jury 
found Ohio National Guardsmen and state officials not liable 
for the May 4 shootings. 

As the jurors entered the Cleveland courtroom on Aug. 27, 
1975, one wept openly. As the nine to three decision was 
read, the chambers were filled with sobs and shouts. 

"It's still murder!" yelled Tom Grace, one of the nine 
wounded who, with parents of the dead students, were 
plaintiffs in the $46 million civil damage suit. "This is an 
outrage. There is no justice." Others wept bitterly. 

Chief counsel Joseph Kelner lashed out at Judge Don J. 
Young and called the verdict "a mockery ... a travesty 
which must not be allowed to stand." 

On the other side, comments were tempered. "I think this 
supports the system of jurisprudence and law enforcement 
across the nation," said retired Adj. Gen. Sylvester Del 
Corso, commander of the Guard in 1970. 

Former KSU president Robert I. White was "pleased and 
relieved, but ... it is not possible to be happy." 

Gov. James A. Rhodes, one of 29 defendants, had no 

Defense attorney Charles Brown of Columbus, an aggressive 
interrogator on the courtroom floor, ignored the prospect of 
an appeal, telling the media, "Gentlemen, you have now 
heard the last word on Kent State." 

Brown was incorrect. After 14 weeks of testimony from 101 
witnesses, the last word remains to be spoken. 

An appeal filed by plaintiffs was expected to reach court in 
May. Conducted by the American Civil Liberties Union, the 
appeal was expected to center on questionable rulings by 
Young concerning introduction of evidence, Young's 
instructions to the jury and the possible perjury of some 
defendants. As of publication, chief appellate attorney 
Sanford Rosen was poring over details of the 13,000 page 
trial transcript. 

Contradictions between the testimony of Rhodes and Del 
Corso concerning a phone call to then-Vice President 
Spiro Agnew held little significance during the trial. In 
September, the Cleveland Plain Dealer published DelCcrso's 
secret grand jury testimony which detailed a Rhodes call to 
Agnew; Rhodes still denies making the call. Other grand jury 
testimony, which Judge Young would not allow the jury to 
hear, was read into the record by Kelner for appeal 

The courtroom drama is over; the five years have been hard 
on Arthur Krause, the other parents, the students — and the 
guardsmen. The appeal may bring a different decision, but 
like the one on Aug. 27, it will be joyless, bitter . . . and a 
long time coming. 

Story by Keith Sinzinger 
Photos by Phil Long 

Above, Gov. James Rhodes; Right, Dean Kahler, wounded May 4, 1970 


Crime: It happens here, too 

The campus beat 

Below right, Officer Peach takes a lunch break with his wife. Opposite page, 
Peach and Officer Robert Tilton answer what ultimately was a false alarm in 
Moulton Hall 

As he talked, John Peach drove slowly, circling the campus, 
eyes trained forward. "There are innumerable things that can 
look suspicious," he said as he swung into Small Group. 
"Once you patrol long enough and know the campus you 
know where things are supposed to be. There are so many 
things you can look for — the way passengers in a car look 
at you, if someone isn't paying enough attention to you, if 
somebody is lingering in a spot, if there's a clean car with 
dirty license plates — anything can be suspicious. Police 
have to learn to be suspicious by nature." 

He said there is little routine in a campus policeman's job 
and little boredom. On an average night, a policeman's 
duties may range from breaking up domestic quarrels to 
walking the dormitories or patrolling the library in order to 
discourage thefts or voyeurism (the library is the scene of 
most sex-related incidents on campus other than rapes). 

Peach said cases involving domestic quarrels, mentally 
imbalanced persons and vehicle searches are the riskiest 
because the policeman does not know what to expect. 

As one of 35 officers on the KSU police force, Officer Peach He related such an instance that occurred last summer. 

has been only five years on the job, having joined the force 
in September 1970. Now, at age 27, he is sergeant of his 
four-to-midnight shift and is soon slated for another 
promotion, this time to head detective. 

"About 11:30 p.m. a woman came into the station and said 
her legally separated husband had just refused to give back 
their two kids who had been visiting him. She said that he 
said he'd kill them and her if she tried to get them back. She 


said he had a gun and that he had had mental problems. I 
took four men to his Allerton apartment and surrounded it. 
The place was completely dark except for the porch light." 

Alone and without a gun drawn, Peach said he walked slowly 
to the door and knocked. Peach asked the man to turn on a 
light and said he was there to answer a complaint. After a 
time, the man turned on the light and came to the door. 

"He said he didn't have a gun. Through patient talking, we 
convinced him it was best he release the kids and seek 
action through the courts. 

"Policemen's morals and ethics are supposed to be beyond 
reproach. They're also supposed to be able to handle 
anything from a cat in a tree to a fire to a fight to an accident 
and they're expected to do the most professional job. If an 

officer doesn't look as proficient as he should, he's 

"He's supposed to be professional in so many areas — it's 
impossible to do because there's too many areas . . . we're 
supposed to have a knowledge of all laws, all supreme, 
federal, district and local court rulings, knowledge of arrest 
procedures, search and seizure procedures — which is a 
brand new ball game — in-depth accident investigation 
procedures, first-aid knowledge, expertise in interviewing 
people, knowledge of in-depth counseling of sensitive crime 
victims . . . 

"There are times police officers can't be 100 per cent 

Story by Ron Kovach 
Photos by Mat Bulvony 


"People do the same things every day 
that I did — the upper echelon gets away 
with it because they have the backing." 

— Silas Ashley 

In spring 1974 Silas Ashley, former president of the Black 
United Students (BUS), was to receive the Manchester Cup, 
a university award presented annually to a senior male 
student for outstanding leadership and citizenship. In 
October 1975, Ashley walked out of Portage County Jail in 
Ravenna after serving a jail term for theft of university funds. 

A June 1974 graduate, Ashley was accused of writing, while 
BUS president, checks totaling $1,150 from BUS funds, 
which are partly paid by student fees. Arrested in June 1974, 
he was initially charged with misusing $350 in university 
funds. He pleaded guilty in October 1974. 

He could have faced six months to five years in prison but 
Portage County Judge Edwin Jones in August 1975 
suspended the prison sentence on certain conditions, 
which included a 60-day jail term. 

In addition to the jail term, Ashley's probation required his 
repaying the university and staying on probation for three 
years or until the money is paid back. 

Officer John Peach of the KSU Police Department said 
Ashley fled to New York following his arrest. Persuaded to 
return to Kent, Ashley eventually changed his plea to guilty. 

Peach refused to disclose Ashley's methods, but said the 
theft was "very easy to do;" since then, he said, the 
university has tightened its accounting procedures of 
student organizations. Peach said police investigation 
showed some of Ashley's money was attained through the 
manipulation of concert checks sent to musical groups. 

Ashley said what he did was legally but not morally wrong. 
He refused to say how he spent the BUS money but said it 
was on neither himself nor BUS. Moreover, he added, if BUS 
members had known what he was doing they would have 
approved. (Officer Peach said evidence shows Ashley spent 
some of the money on his rent.) 

Ashley said his only real regrets were not telling his BUS 
constituency what he was doing with its money and pleadinc 
guilty to the charge of theft of funds. "I should have told my 


constituents who put their faith in me. This was my basic 
wrong," he said. He said he did not inform them and pled 
guilty to avoid bringing a lot of people into the proceedings 
"if something happened." Nor, he said, did he want the 
resulting publicity. 

"I knew the sentence would have an impact on my life and 
goals but I didn't feel bitter. I never felt bitter," said Ashley. 
He plans to pay back the money at the rate of about $100 
per month. 

In a letter in the Daily Kent Stater written in November 1974, 
Ashley addressed himself to "the higher echelon of the Kent 
State community" and the economic "class" of which it was 
a part. That class, he said, has from the start been involved 
in deceit, lies, murder, theft and scandal. "I learned in 
psychology 162 and sociology 150," he wrote, "that is a 
proven fact that association brings about assimilation. I can 
say from my personal experience with you that this is 
definitely true. 

"The upper echelon," Ashley said last October, "breaks laws 
every day and gets away with it because they have backing; 
that's the way it is everywhere and the way it always will be. 
The CIA is one example . . . People do the same things every 
day that I did. As a campus figure, I got caught up in the way 
they ran things ... it was a gigantic mistake . . . You get 
caught up in it but you forget one important thing — you 
don't have the backing they do if you get caught." 

Ashley said he is going back to New York City to drive a cab, 
something he has done in the past. He also plans to study 
law although not necessarily to become a lawyer. Eventually, 
he said, he will run his own business with a group of friends. 

Ashley said half-jokingly that he should have received the 
Manchester Cup since it had been voted for him before the 
selection committee knew of his misuse of funds. The cup 
was awarded to no one after it was withheld from Ashley. 

Story by Ron Kovach 


"My roommate couldn't understand that 
rape has nothing to do with sex." 

Ann Gabriel was raped. So was her roommate, the same day. 
So were 13 others, during spring 1975. All allegedly were 
raped by the same man. He has not, as of winter 1975, been 

Ann Gabriel (assumed name) described her experience that 
March day as "a nightmare." 

"We had just moved into a house," she said. "The back door 
did not open from the inside, but we did not know it opened 
easily from the outside. 

"He had checked all the windows and doors. He had 
smeared his fingerprints on the windows so there would be 
nothing to identify him. I had severe bronchitis and a 105- 
degree temperature, and was sleeping when he came into 
the room," she said. 

"He lit a match. When I asked who was there, he mumbled 
something and put a knife to my throat." 

After Gabriel was raped she fell back into a drugged sleep, 
while the man went to the next room and raped her 

"She was a very passive, feminine woman," Gabriel saio. 
"She could not understand that rape has nothing to do with 
sex or making love; it is sexual male aggression against a 
female. She was really destroyed by the whole thing." 

Gabriel said a cultural inhibition against talking about sex 
often leads women to equate the act of making love with the 
crime of rape. "I have no guilt feelings about it myself 
because it wasn't me, it was an aggressor." 


Gabriel, a psychology major, is now a volunteer at Townhall 
II, Kent's crisis intervention center. She has become heavily 
involved in rape reform since that spring. Her roommate has 
left school. 

Only nine of the 15 related rapes that spring were reported 
to the police. A group of concerned women, some of them 
involved in Townhall II, discovered the other six. 

"We (Townhall II) went door-to-door starting at Depeyster to 
Lincoln from up on the other side of Oak Street down to 
Main Street and we found the other victims of which clearly, 
over half had not been reported," said Gabriel. "From a lot 
of women we got a reaction but, even then, we couldn't 
establish trust to the point where they would report their 
rapes to the police." 

Many of the victims aided in composing a physical and 
psychological sketch of the man, which ran in the Stater and 
Kent-Ravenna Record-Courier April 22, 1975. Gabriel calls 
that publicity "a public outcry." 

"We weren't sure at the time it was the same rapist but the 
situations were the same," she said. "He was basically 
impotent without a passive victim." 

Investigation of this case is almost at a standstill since all 
known leads have been eliminated. Cases remain open 
indefinitely at the police department. The photo composite of 
this rapist along with other suspects-at-large remain hanging 
on the station wall. 

Story by Joan Kobosky 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 


Security aides — the night patrol 

The hours aren't the best in the world, yet they don't seem to 
mind. While most of the campus sleeps, they remain awake. 
They are the student night security aides who patrol the 
dorms every night from 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. securing the doors, 
checking for unescorted males on female floors, checking 
fire alarms and equipment, keeping a lookout for vandals and 
robberies and escorting women who have to walk across 
campus alone at night. 

The 35 aides work in pairs and cover six areas on campus. 
The group is mainly criminal justice majors, many of whom 
work to pay their way through school. 

"I make $2.41 an hour doing this, plus experience and a 
reference for the future," said Tony Barker, one such major. 
The job was inconvenient at first, he said. He had to adjust 
his sleeping habits to his work schedule, which averages 
from 12 to 24 hours per week. "I've got my class schedule 
fixed so now I don't have any classes before 11 a.m., so I 
can sleep after I'm through working." 

Barker says he's never caught anyone committing a crime. 
"It's usually fairly quiet around here," he said. 

Barbara Slepecky said she expected a reaction from 
students used to seeing a male patrolling the halls, but so far 


Opposite page. David Zimmerman patrols the Eastway Quad area; this page, 
left, Barb Slepecky locks a door in Tri-Towers; right, Tony Barker escorts 
Marba William. 

has not heard any comments. "I have gotten some funny 
looks, though," she said. 

Slepecky, another criminal justice major, is the only female 
security aide, although Kenneth Olson, assistant director of 
residence programs, says there are women on the 
applicants' waiting list. 

"I haven't encountered any trouble yet. It's been pretty much 
a routine job," said Slepecky. "I think the job will help me 
discover how to deal with the public and how to handle 
•"ituations. If I'm going to be a cop, it's something I'll have to 

Twenty-eight-year-old Ray Flynn served two years as a 
marine and has had professional police experience. Now a 
sophomore planning a new career, Flynn is one of the few 
on the security staff with professional experience. 

"It's hard to get excited about this job," he said. "But I like 
to help people and I enjoy meeting them. Once you know the 
people who live in the dorms, it makes the job easier." He 
said nonstudents cause most of the trouble in the dorms. 

Story by Al Pfenninger 


After hours 

Is there life after dark? 

Kent is notorious for its abundance of night life. Students say 
things don't get cooking until 10 p.m. but late-late activities 
after obvious night habitats like the bars are closed amaze all 
but the most die-hard night owls. 

Late-night classes, parties, studying, playing and eating are 
prevalent around KSU every night of the week. 

In the theatre wing of the Music and Speech Building a stage 
lighting class meets one week per quarter from 11 p.m. to 3 
a.m. Students set up and adjust stage lights for theatre 

Dan McCown, a class member, said the group meets late 
because rehearsals and set construction keep the lighting 
crew from working during the day. McCown said he dabated 
about registering for the class but, "somebody has to do it 
(lighting) and this is one good method of getting people to 
do it." 

Other nightly work in the theatre includes the "sweat shop" 
atmosphere of the costume design room. Students and 
faculty work into the early morning hours to provide play 

Music and information is broadcast continuously via WKSU- 
AM and FM until 2:30 a.m. daily. John Guzan, an AM jock, 
said he likes the solitude of the studio late at night. 

"No one is here to hassle me," he said. 

Students also spend the night working. 

Dave Strube, a sophomore from Manchester, cleans the 
snack bar at Eastway Recreation Center Monday through 
Friday for $2.10 an hour. 


This page. top. creativity on the art floor of Stopher Hall continues into the 
early morning hours, bottom, a midnight shopper at the all-night A&P. 
Opposite page, top, music played to a deserted lounge; bottom, John Gozan, 
an AM |ock, stays up late to entertain other night people 

This page, late-night hours are for quiet studying at Jerry's Diner, top; or in 
the Beall-McDowell snack bar. bottom. Opposite page, a lounge party in 
Dunbar Hall livens the night for those who don't have to study. 

Strube says he likes his job because of its privacy and the 
time he has to think. 

Residents of the art floor at Stopher Hall spend evenings 
creating for assignments. Drinking beer and listening to a 
Firesign Theartre album, the students worked diligently on 
what they termed a dead Friday evening. 

"This is enjoyable as long as the beer holds out," one artist 

A group of Dunbar Hall residents spends the night hours 
eating and playing cards in one of Dunbar's lounges. 

"We do this to have a good excuse to miss classes in the 
morning," said a resident who refused to give his name. He 
said he was afraid his would read it in the Burr. 

To cure the late-night munchies, all-night restaurants are 

Students can eat in Jerry's Diner on South Water Street, the 
Kent Motor Inn, Perkin's Pancake House, or Dunkin DoNuts, 
all on Main Street. 

The students frequent the restaurants after late parties or 
while taking breaks from all-night studying. 

No matter what his preference, the serious night owl will 
never lack things to do after hours, for there is an 
abundance of places to haunt. 

KSU never sleeps. 

Story by William Moushey 

% * 

Taylor Hall: _ . 

The all-night building I 

"It's like bats in the belfry and moles in the 

There must be some kind of way out of here. 
Said the joker to the thief. 
There's too much confusion, 
I can't get no relief. 

"All Along the Watchtower" — Bob Dylan 

If one wanders near the Commons late at night, bright lights 
can be seen emanating from hill-perched Taylor Hall. 

People who aren't acquainted with architecture or journalism 
majors may think someone forgot to turn the lights out. An 
inside look will reveal eyes bulging and coffee being slurped, 
along with the other bizarre activities of the Taylor Hall 

Because students are^developing color film in the photo 
laboratory, editors of the Daily Kent Stater and the Chestnut 
Burr are slaving to meet deadlines and architecture students 
are working to finish projects, Taylor is inhabited at all hours. 

"It's like bats in the belfry and moles in the basement," said 
Doug Mead, a photo-lab assistant, while closing shop at 11 

The belfry people (architecture students) work through the 
night on the top two floors of Taylor to prepare projects. 

One student said much of the time is spent mulling over 
steps to be taken with projects. 

"I've sometimes been here for three days in a row," said Dan 
Lawrence, a fourth-year student. "Intellectuals have their 
limits but idiots' limits are infinite," he said. 

"I'm here . . . this is my home, I just sit up here and watch 
the world go by," said Jeff Rice, a second-year student. Rice 
said students work to finish projects for criticism by 

"If he (the professor) likes it you can do a final draft; if not, 
it's back to the drawing board. 

Opposite page, top, upstairs in the architectural maze, long nights can be 
times of isolation; bottom, dedication often is fortified with coffee This page, 
top left, Stater staffers work en masse far into the night; top right, Doug 
Mead, photo lab assistant, wonders if he's free to think or only his muscles 
are reacting; bottom right, an architecture student contemplates a nocturnal 

"If you get frustrated, you can always go downstairs and kick 
the pop machine,'' he added. 

On the first floor, journalism students work in the photo lab 
and slave to produce publications. 

Stater staffers spend the late hours waiting for late news 
stories and ironing out make-up and layout problems. 

"Sometimes it's almost like giving birth,' 
a city editor. 

said Al Richardson, 

He said the only way to obtain returns from the long hours 
invested would be to purchase stock in Martin Vending, the 
firm which owns and services the coffee machine on the first 

"Sometimes you wonder if you're free to think or if it's just 
muscles reacting," said Mead late at night in the photo-lab 
as he prepared prints for classes. 

One early morning Susan Murcko, co-editor of the Chestnut 
Burr, was asked why she keeps late-night hours at the Burr 
office. "Come back in an hour," she said, "I've got to take a 
nap now from being up all night." 

Burr editors plan stories, print pictures and draw layouts 
throughout many long nights. 

The people of Taylor Hall endure. Night after night, week 
after week, they are there. The confusion seems endless and 
the only escape seems to be to quit or to graduate. 

Fifth-year architecture student Tom Hemmingway 
rationalized the entire late-night situation one lonely 3 a.m. 

"Just think about all the money we're going to make." 

Story by William Moushey 
Photos by William Green 

Bottoms up, money down 

Liquor: The bars gross $16,000 
before the night ends. 

The high cost of living takes on a different meaning on any 
given Friday night in downtown Kent. Then, the party people 
hit the streets looking for relaxation after a hard week of 

Money flows as quick as liquor in the bars. According to 
owners' and bartenders' estimates, more than 4,000 people 
will enter bars close to 7,000 times and will drink over 1,560 
gallons of beer and 4,900 ounces of whiskey before the night 
is over. Another 5,000 — plus bottles and cans of beer will be 
consumed. Draft beer is the big seller over 64 kegs, or 
11,634 glasses. 

Beer figures may be slightly higher because beer is sold in 
carry-out stores and entertainment centers like bowling 

According to estimates, including cover charges for various 
places, bars realize a gross of over $16,000 before the night 
finally ends. 

These figures do not pertain completely to college students, 
but bar owners agree that students account for 60 to 78 per 
cent of their business. 

Owners, bartenders and patrons all say individual 
preferences determine which bar a person enters, and for 
how long. 

If you want a quick drink or two, don't mind feeling like a 
sardine and want to see a lot of people, Chuck Thomas, 
manager of the Loft, says his bar is the place to come. 

"We get a lot of traffic," he said. "Around 800 to 1,000 come 
in on Friday night for a couple drinks, then move on. Friday 
is our busiest night. I guess it has something to do with 
Saturday being a traditional date night." 

The dating bar in Kent, according to one of its managers, is 
the Dome. 

"We have a dance band — you know — Top 40 stuff," she 

If you want a good mixed drink, go the the Town House 
Lounge. If you like a disco atmosphere, light show and want 
a computer to mix your drinks, the Krazy Horse is the place. 
If Tequilla Sunrise is your favorite drink, hit the Blind Owl and 
ask for B.Z. 

If you have the money for a $1.25 cover charge, like live 
music and want to see the beer flow heavier than it does 
anywhere else in Kent, Filthy McNasty's is your bar. 

Opposite page, liquor flows abundantly in the bars; this page, top, in carry-out stores; bottom left, from wineskins; bottom right, at a 
Dunbar beer blast. 

Money flows as quick as liquor. 

Filthy's has taken the lead in cover charge, people coming 
and going and beer drinking. The succession of leaders over 
the last two or three years, according to owners, was from 
the Dome to the Krazy Horse, and now to Filthy's. 

The assistant manager of Filthy's, Terry Knezevic, says the 
reason for his success is good entertainment and beer at 
popular prices. Being a new bar does not hurt, he says, 
because people always are looking for something new. 

There is a discrepancy between Terry's figures and those of 
the bartender who fills the coolers. The owner says 10 kegs 
and 15 cases of beer are sold on a Friday night, and 12 
bottles of liquor. The bartender says 15 kegs and 25 cases 
are sold. Using either estimate, Filthy's is in on about one- 
fifth of the Kent action. 

Surprisingly, the Rathskeller is second to Filthy's. It sells 
about seven kegs of beer on a Friday night. 

Another kind of action can be found on Water Street, where 
six bars line the street. 

Joe, the bartender of the Ren-de-vou, says his bar is for 
older people. 

"We get seniors, grad students and professors who are 
trying to get away from the teeny-boppers on the street," he 

Some students don't wait until the weekend to unwind. John 
Coffee, a freshman from North Canton, is a regular. He 
drinks about six to eight beers every night of the week, which 
he says is not a lot compared to other regulars he sees. 

"I like the Kove," he said. "There is more of a relaxed 
atmosphere there. The people are more into entertainment 
than drinking. The Horse (Krazy Horse) used to be good until 
the jocks took it over." 

Coffee said, "The place is always packed. They must bring in 
a lot of money." 

Owner of the Kove and Water Street Saloon, Robert Petrie, 
refused to comment on sales. Neither would owners of J.B.'s 
the Deck, Pirate's Alley, Walter's Eastway Recreation Center 
and the Schwebel Room Lounge. 

$16,000 is really only part of the story of how much money is 
spent in Kent on one Friday night. Add pinball, pool, pizza 
places, hamburgers . . . 

Story by Lee Thompson 



The games people play . 

"People keep telling me I look like Elton John." 

Bing! Bing! Clang! FLASH! 

"C'mon baby, c'mon." 

Amid the dingy and dark places of amusement the sounds 
ring down the rows of pleasure machines. The chants echo 

"Hey! hey, get it in there, get over there!" 

The games people play. Not with each other's heads, but 
with machines. Cheap thrills for a quarter. A chance to be a 
"pinball wizard," to impress the girls, to influence people. 

An ego trip. 

It's a fetish to some people, this strange relationship with a 
mechanism that takes your money and gives you . . . what? A 

few moments of its time, shiny toys to play with, an 
opportunity to stop thinking about more important things. 

Clay Wilson, an off / on KSU student, leans against one of 
the many boxes lines up inside Bozo's in downtown Kent. 
Wilson is the manager of JB's, a hangout for 18 — to 21 — 
year-olds. He relaxes at Bozo's a hangout for kids too young 
for JB's. 

"People keep telling me I look like Elton John," he says. "I'm 
gonna start combing my hair different." 

Click! Crack! Plop! 

"Eight ball in the corner pocket!" 

"Wanna play some dollar, dollar nine ball? Gonna break your 
thumbs, fast Eddie. Nice miscue, chump!" 

This page, left, pool can be a puzzling game; top right, the longing to be a 
wizard; bottom right, a foosball game is the joy of the moment for Marilyn 
Haag, Dave Doll, Dave Bell and Martha Baughman 



on a felt-covered table in dimly lit corners of bars the game 
goes on. A test of skill, of the ability to hustle, of standing up 
under pressure. 

Boys become men. In the basement of the Student Union or 
at the Eastway Recreation Center students play on the toys 
for big kids. Foosball, air hockey, table tennis, computer 
games, billiards, slide bowling, all the games are there. Amid 
institutionalized paint and pillars, terrazzo floors shining, cold 
and clean, students try to forget the university as they play. 

Isn't that, after all, the point of it all? To forget? Forget 
studies, forget cares. Forget that you're using tomorrow's 
lunch money to play this stupid game. 

Play at being something else. Escape. 


You stand solemnly over the red-lit and finely tuned machine. 

You put the ball into play, it bounces. Bing! Bong! RING! It 
darts and rolls and the score clicks over, higher and higher. 

Your timing is right. You deftly catch the shiny ball as it 
comes off the bumper; you flick it off the flipper and into the 
top row. Once again it begins its noisy descent. 

Bets are being made. 

"Ten dollars says he turns it over!" 

"Ten dollars, shit, man. I got a hundred that says he don't." 

A curious crowd gathers. On your third ball you've got eight- 
hundred thousand points. Two more balls and two-hundred 
thousand to go. The bets are raised. 


Left, a miscue in the dark, right, body English is an important factor in a r 

"My car and my boat against your house!" 

"Hey, throw in your old lady and you got a bet!" 

"You got it man, you got it." 

The pressure gets heavy, your button fingers are sweating. 

Nine-hundred thousand! 

At nine-hundred-eighty thousand the call slides down a side 

"Listen boy, dis is a family-owned machine, ya know what I 
mean? An' da family don' like ta lose, eh? An' I really got da 
hots for dat guy's old lady, huh?" 

And before the fifth ball can hit a bell or bumper, a sharp 
point in your side makes you jump. 


And that's what the games are all about. 

The crowd sighs. Slowly you draw the plunger back, easily 
you punch the ball up the shute. 

Then a voice, hot and desperate, in your ear. 

Story by A M. Murray 
Photos by Matt Bulvony 

The vending machine game 

Top left, tactic for a reluctant machine; bottom left, it's in there 
right, if at first you don't succeed, a little friendly persuasion may. 

somewhere; top right, a pensive moment in deciding whether or not to gamble; bottom 

Gift of garb 

"High fashion" is often a word of contempt rather than of 
praise, used to suggest an expensive ideal for mindless 
bores. But not at KSU. Almost anything goes at KSU. And 
the fashions stress individuality or functionalism or freedom 
or flair. 

shirts in heathery colors. Leotards. Kabuki shirts. 

Men and women were wearing denim shirts with patchwork 
and embroidery trims. Long, belted sweater-jackets with cowl 
collars. Silky printed shirts. Even a gored velvet jacket. 

F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "Begin with an individual, and before 
you know it you find that you have created a type; begin with 
a type, and you find that you have created — nothing." So 
we shall begin. With individuals. 

We could find few men wearing the $85 jacket suggested by 
Playboy for college wear. Or women wearing Mademoiselle's 
choice — a $62 cardigan. But we did notice last fall that 
variety was making a comeback. 

The KSU T-shirts were packed away with summer clothes. 
The plaid flannel lumberjack shirts were saved for only the 
coldest winter days. Instead there were dressier tops on men 
and women. 

No one went as far as to burn his or her jeans. A more 
practical garment has never been created. Jeans are for all 
seasons. Sturdy. Durable. Rugged. Need no ironing. Have 

You can ride down snow-covered Blanket Hill on a cafeteria 
tray in jeans. You can sit in jeans at a desk where someone 
recently has been resting feet. You can sit on the floor in 
jeans if you cannot find a place to sit at all. 

Denim is the greatest fabric to hit the world since cotton 
replaced linsey-woolsey. It will be with us interminably. If the 
students we talked to could buy just one new garment to 
bring to school, it would be a pair of well-fitting, sexy jeans. 

But on campus they were paired with: gauzey man-styled 

And on a fair day, a campus fashion-watcher could catch a 
glimpse of some striking "looks." 

Tall women with masses of frizzy hair, juicy red lips, midi- 
length skirts and platform shoes. 

Or fragile-looking child-women in long calico dresses with 
little puff sleeves and scoop necklines. 

Occasionally a woman in jeans whizzed by on her bicycle, a 
gypsy scarf flapping jauntily in the breeze. 

When winter came knitted hockey caps and sheltering hoods 
hid beautiful afros and long silky manes alike. Functional 
became fashionable. Navy pea coats. Nylon parkas. Heavy 
sweaters. Corduroy pants that rustled when the wearer 
walked. Scratchy wool socks. Heavy-duty shoes. 

Students made their mothers happy and themselves 
(hopefully) pneumonia-proof by donning mittens and long 
knitted scarves. They quickly adopted all the kinds of clothes 
that really work for hauling themselves around when the 
snow is piled high. 

But in the spring the campus became a rainbow of pastel 
halter-tops. Feet, legs, backs, midriffs, shoulders would all 
hang out. Shorts. Cut-offs. Tank tops. Freedom. 

Freedom. Functionalism. Flair. Individuality. Fashion at KSU. 

Story by Mary Mullin 

Opposite page, Linda Gross and Neil Jacobs. 


Opposite page, Kris Martin and John Meyers; this page, left, Debbie 
Cunningham; right, Jane Ruddy. 


Opposite page, Greg Kokal and Vivian Luther; this page, left to right, Donna 
Warren, Cedric Brown and Juanita Smith. 



Bicycling is a way of life at KSU. 

Some students ride only in good weather; some ride all year 
round. Some ride for exercise, some for pleasure. Many 
commute via cycles. 

"It used to be, you had to look racy," said Dennis Murphy, 
president of the Kent Bicycle Club. "Now more people are 
using bicycles for transportation. No wonder, with the gas 

People who commute on their bicycles often add safety 
features. Fenders, mirrors, bells and flags are becoming 
increasingly popular. A good lock and chain is a necessity 
and baskets and bicycle backpacks are often used by the 

cycling commuter. 

Steven Loitz, a freshman from Rootstown, built a 15-speed 
bike from a 10-speed and some parts. Loitz, who says he has 
cycled "seriously" for five years, rides a five-speed to school 
and work every day and uses the 15-speed for less heavy- 
duty biking. 

Many people are afraid to ride in inclement weather, but Loitz 
claims properly adjusted brakes, fenders and sunglasses 
make biking safe even during the winter. For instance, riders 
must be careful not to build up too much momentum in order 
to brake safely in snow or rain, he said. 

"Hitting the brakes for two seconds to squeeze out the 

water, a quick release and then hard pressure on the brakes 
should make a safe, effective stop in wet weather," he 

height was two years ago." Those now buying bikes are 
making return sales and buying their second 10-speeds, he 

The bicycle club was originated by Murphy during spring 
1975 to provide an opportunity for socializing, education and 

The club rents tandem bicycles noon till dark on weekends 
and sponsors 20-mile group rides on Sundays. These rides 
average 15 participants, who usually ride three- or 10-speed 
cycles. The club also sponsors long-range tours, one of 
which was a tour of the Scioto River Valley. 

"The bicycle boom has seen its day," said Murphy. "Its 

Unlike Europe, the car-oriented United States has been slow 
to take interest in bicycle racing, which Murphy thinks is a 
good way to build up interest in the sport. 

"After all," he said, "before the big money purses were 
available to tennis players, you didn't see as many people 
interested in tennis." 

Story by Debbie Reisman. Photos by William Green. 


The million-dollar difference 


On a good day at the golf course, Mike Lude can honestly 
says he feels like a million. 

He can point to all the charts he has in his office around the 
back and up the stairs at the KSU golf course. He can flip 
through all the black books of figures he's been collecting 
since he became athletic director in the fall of 1970 and he 
can show you just what intercollegiate athletics here is worth 
in terms of dollars. 

A million dollars. 

Roughly 1,000 men and women compete intercollegiately on 
20 different teams, to the tune of 120 grants-in-aid, each of 
which pays for tuition, a double occupancy room, food and 
books. A projected $366,000 for the 1975-76 fiscal year. 

In addition to the grants-in-aid, the projected million-dollar 
budget includes $404,000 for salaries and $411,000 for 
operations, which includes things like putting the tarp on the 
football field. 

Where does the money come from? "I don't know," Mike 
Lude says, then turns to his charts and books and tries to tell 

Half of that million-dollar budget is wiped out by what Mike 
Lude calls "hard income" — gate receipts, ticket sales, 
facilities rentals, away-game guarantees and fund raising. 

As for the other half million, Mike Lude says it's "from the 
right pocket to the left pocket," which is allocation from the 
treasurer's office — university-provided funds, fees and state 

Student attendance at 1975 home football games totaled about 14,000. which 
included a peak of 4,500 at the Miami match. Student attendance at 1974-75 
home intercollegiate basketball games totaled about 6,000. with a high of 
1 .800 fans at one contest 



At the end of a long hall in Memorial Gym, late in the fall, just 
inside of a door marked Intramurals, Dave Straub rests his 
tennis shoes on his metal desk and talks about people. 

About 60 programs and 10,000 people a year (about one- 
third of which participate each quarter) and the very idea of 
running around a gym for the joy and satisfaction of being 
able to do it. 

He points to a sheet on his desk which shows that in the last 
five years, the number of people involved in intramurals has 
doubled. It also shows the budget has stayed the same, 
about $35,000. The money is allocated from student activities 
fees and no funds are provided through general university 

He talks about the new allocations procedure which allows 
each student to decide where his $9 for the year will go, how 
intramurals could go down the drain if students forget about 
running around the gym, swimming in the pool, participating 
in a bicycle race or a chess tournament or co-recreational 

Without saying it, Dave Straub talks about the difference a 
million dollars makes. 

Editor's note: We decided it would be more representative to 
show as many of KSU's 10,000 intramural buffs as we could. 
However, we could not justifiably ignore intercollegiates, so 
there are as many action and group shots of those men and 
women as we could assemble for their fans. As for the above 
figures, while we see tremendous advantages to both 
programs, we feel there is an urgent need for serious 
nonpolitical evaluation of funding for both areas. 

Story by T. J. Elliott 


Intramural sports 

Men's football 

1 88 

Opposite page, two members of Omega Psi Phi. This page, top, action 
on the intramural football field has its acrobatic moments. Randy 
Norman, with ball, is pictured with members of Akpup Sheet Co.; 
bottom, members of Jerry's Diner 




This page, a player from Phi Sigma Kappa runs back the ball, but eventually his team lost the championship game to Beall Place (white jerseys). Opposite 
page, top left, from left to right, Joe Lupica, Kathy Kapmski. Patty Orosz, Sandy Slon and Kathy Ahern watch the game; top right. Beall Placer Drew Welch 
carries Del Geller while Al Mefcalf follows; bottom left, Randy Norman and Sandy Slon; bottom right, the victory triangle; left to right, bottom row, Harry 
Gallagoras, Ron Skirpstas, Drew Welch, Randy "Gater" Gates, Dan Fitzpatrick, Paul Addams; third row, Thane Lachlitner, Al Metcalf, Gary Zwick. Rick 
Schultz; second row, Randy Norman, Darell Fisher, BMh Lekas; top. Del Geller 



Co-rec football 

This page, the Bronks and Bucks play the Lake Hall Seconds in a 
semitinal game pictured top left and bottom; top right, action with the 

Glenmorns Guzzlers. 


.■:.", V/ 


This page, Bruce Stump (white) pins Craig Stoltz. Opposite page, top, 
Berni Tuerler (white) is taken down by Gary Glenn; bottom. Bill Fox 

(18) is stretched by Marc Dasen. 



Men's tennis 

Mark Nassau, left, tried desperately to come from behind but was 
defeated by Scott Smith, right, men's intramural tennis champ 


Co-rec volleyball 

Top left, members of the Polar Cows in action; top right, a Hairrot team 
member; bottom left, the Volley of the Dolls plays Taco's Harem; bottom 

right, a COSO competitor. 


This page, left, Rush Gang competes with Slam and Spike; right, a Polar 
Cow member; opposite page, COSO plays the Volley Ball Club 


Table tennis 

Left, Mike McGee against bottom right, Don Douglas 




Top right, Jim Fete concentrating in a match against bottom right, Mike 







Above, Bruce Hawk; both right, Laurie Gould. 







Above, Gary Cook; right, Keith Senkyr. 

-, iS. 


Below, John Mattl of Delta Phi Delta 


The Dunbar Establishment fast breaks past the Nads. 


Above, anticipation under the boards in a game between the 

Hi Spots and Rits Gang; bottom right, a member of Jerry's 

Diner Deadheads pulls down a rebound against Pitch of the 

Litter; opposite, Rich Jones (8), of Dunbar Establishments, 

is bumped off from taking a shot by Less Moore (0) of the 




Right, Tornadoes members discuss the finer points of the game; bottom 
left, Lake Hall against Gamise; bottom right, on the sidelines. 


Above, teamwork and five hands helped the ball in for the Pitch of the 

Litter (5, 8) as it opposed Jerry's Diner Deadheads; top right, Rits 

Gang outmuscled the Hi Spots for victory; bottom right, stopping the ball 

is the objective; the means vary from eye-gouging to a flying tackle. 



This page, above, referee Renard Turner; top right, a one-handed Earl 

"The Pearl" shot; bottom right, court action; opposite page, top, more 

anticipation; bottom left, a strained ankle; bottom right, a little sidelines 




Left, a player from Pitch of the Litter discusses team strategy on the 

sidelines; right, Bill Markin (5) of the Zits is about to be clobbered by a 

player of the Augers, but that's the point of the game. 


Intercollegiate sports 


First row, left to right: Graig Shoemacher. Andre Parhamovich, John Racissi, Ken Gast, Dave Krauss, Frank Smolinski, Mark Burns, 
Wayne Zetts Second row. Art Welch (coach); Tony Angelo, Dave Peet, Jeff Ironside, Bob Utter, Tom Ciccollelli, Mike Patrick, batboy 
Dave Degley. Third row: Ken Wright (trainer): groundskeeper Tim Miller, Bob Breznai. Greg Hartman, Scott Cook, Randy Gonter, Mike 
Ryan, Ruby Donatelli, Jim Johnson, Back row: Keith Steelman. Don Price, Bruce Volney, Scott Armstrong, Bob Furbee, Gary Kulbaga, 
Rich Pavone, Bill Arkus, Dale Kusa. 


Women's track 


Men's track 

First row, left to right. Bruce Adair, Mike Brown. Calvin Gregory, Joe Dobrzeniecki, Douglas 
Raymond (coach); Second row: Bob Francis, Mike Irmen, John Dawson, Mark Hunter, Mark 
Cross. Third row: Mark Siegel, Joe Dubina Fourth row: Bob Craft, Chip Breidenbach, Neil 
McConnell. Fifth row: Steve Cameron, John Prisby, Dwight Keir, Bill Bevington. Sixth row: 
Chris Moorez. Ralph Morris, Steve Harden, Floyd Dixon. 


Women's field hockey 

Front row, left to right: JoAnn Harrall, Barb Easlick, Sharon Looney, Debbie 
Spencer, Becky Harris, Ginny Hart, Mary Ann Gainok. Karen Anderson. Back 
row: Linda Jarven, Manager Beth Pirnstill, Helen Hayes, Gayle Marek. Sue 
Belaney, Kathy Anderson, Judy Devine (coach): Tracy Clause, Pat Andrews, 
Linda Brennan. 


Men's tennis 



Top, running back Rick Owens in the KSU vs. Virginia Tech game; 
bottom, Jim Vance defends against Central Michigan. 


Cross country 

Top. Dwight Kier (co-captain); bottom, first row (kneeling), from left to right, 
Joseph Dubina. Neil McConnell. Mike Irmen (co-captain): Marc Hunter, John 
Dawson, co-captain Dwight Ker second row. assistant coach Glenn Town. 
M <e Sparer (manager): William Dunlap, Robert Schaich. Raymond Pelanda, Scott 
Deperro, John Dalheim. coach Douglas Raymond. 



Top, KSU vs. Bowling Green; bottom, first row (seated), from left to right 
Bob Shemory. Gary Snowberger. John Gorjane, Harry Jacob. Matt 
Sanker, Jay Schultz. Scott Miller, second row. Gary Hawk. Joe Burwell. 
Scott Pittman. Tom Delaney. Bob Clouse. coach Page, coach Truit. Jeff 
Johnson, Gary Gough, Luigi Lettieri. Larry Larson. Rob Griffith, third row. 
Joe Ziebert. Bill Stone. Paul Weinstein. Tom Shemory, Steve Begleiter. 
Pat Kane. Al Walker. Steve Brennan. Larry Berthold Dave Trowbridge. Al 
Pestotnik. Bruce Hawk, Marvin Stearns. 


Women's basketball 

Standing, left to right: Barb Easlick, Alice Andrews, Deb Moffett, Marge 
Zezulewicz, Channita Arnngton, Dianne Kyle. Molly McKeown, seated: Laurel 
Wartluft (assistant coach), Deb Royer, Cathy Goudy (cocaptain), Sue Jacobs 
(cocaptain), Jane Verchio, Chris Plonsky, Judy Devme (head coach) 


Men's basketball 

Back row: Rex Hughes, coach, Bill Braunbeck. RogerLyons, Corteze Brown, Bob 
Ross, Joel Claasen, John Utendahl, Jim Zoet, Odell Ball, Dell Steele, Mike 
Lovenguth, Randy Felhaber, Mike Boyd, Greg Ludwig; front row: George 
Harrison, Karl Schlotterer, Tony Jamison, Tom Brabson. Bradley Robinson, 
Tim Richards, Jim Collins and Gerome Carr. 


Women's gymnastics 

Left to right, seated, Kathy Zaratsian, Nancy Pongratz, Joy Nebo, Kim Pohl, 
Pattye Barr, Nancy Enochs. Barb Knapic. Dee Dee Dimaio, Linda Renehan, 
middle row, Tom Lynch (assistant coach), Teri Olson, Dawn Boyd, Robin 
Podolsky, Karen Kenney, Peggy Pletczker, Viccky Hammeron. Becky Stock. 
Marge Van Cura. Paul Doepel (assistant coach); back row, Ernie Rutsky 
(trainer), Phillis Harnishfeger, Lori Sailer, Pat Puican, Pat Trutko, Rudy 
Bachna (head coach), Kris Hedberg, Lori Haas, Cheryl Georgeoff. April 
Showers and Carol Evans 

B^^^BjBl B^^T^B 1 BIm 

a^BB^ JbB^^JbV ■ 

- fJ| H" * j| [ " jH 

i ^B 

k 3 H m 

Bwx/'^Bl .B^^J 

C JbmV^bt 

^^B BBBBBBm^ ^^BBB W^^^m 

bb\ ' ' 





Men's gymnastics 

Back row: Joe Gura. Mike Denallo, Brian Sakai, Bob Gibbons, Tim Harbert, 
Mike D'Amico, Mike Eckhoff, John Sacco, T. J. Wright, Torey Hirsch, Tony 
Ownes, Gary Coburn; front row: Tim McConnell (assistant coach); Ernie 
Rutsky (trainer) Mike Dick (men's coach) Rudy Bachna, (head coach). 


Women's swimming 

Back row Nancy Vitek, Lisa Thomases, Tina Blair, Diane Pritchard, Irene 
Zerefos, Chicki Chicko, Cindy Holway, front row Nancy Shanks, Audi Levy, 
Margaret Brown, Beth Gillig, Freddi Gravenstein, Linda Howe, Sue Medwid, 
Grethen Goss and Kirk "Corky" Semler (coach) 


Men's swimming 

Back row (1 1 persons): Frank Zuk, Greg Cross (manager), Kim Hammerin, 
John Ousek, Dave Watson, Bruce Thompson, Doug Watson, Eric Ambler, 
Mike Wohl, Tod Boyle (coach), Blair Seaman; second row (six persons): 
John Vollmer (diving coach), Tom Durst, Mark Nelles, Rich Alexander, Jeff 
Isley, Ted Orton; third row (tour persons): Andy Archer, Chris Wise, Tom 
Sandercock, Gary Durst; tront row (three persons): Arlo Liebeler, Tom 
Stolkey and Debbie Silver. 

^ % 

'-"A- -i- * >■.■»> 


Women's volleyball 

Left to right, back row, Mary Duckworth, Deb Motlett, Pam Meece, Kathy 
Flynn, Vicki Adams, Barb Jozwiak, Judy Arko, Laura Hardesty, Donna 
Paderewski, Marilyn Stevens (coach); middle row, Pattl Mahoney, Sue 
Dlouhy, Heidi Schneider, Diane Closter, Ellen Tracy, Janet Verchio; front 
row, Marta Kosarchyn, Linda Adell. Jane Verchio, Carol Evans, Marybeth 


Men's wrestling 

Left to right: Tony Arlia, John Dye, Steve Alquire, Milan Yakovich, Harold Cochran, Ron Michael, Mark Osgood, John Letfler, Kevin 
Foley. Jeff Weikert, John O'Brien, Pete Houghtaling, Jim Kazee, George Houghtaling. 



Arts & Sciences 

Scott Anderson 

Sharan Andrews 

Lisa Arn 

Virginia Augusta 

Stephen Balla 

Roger Balogh 

Gregory Bambeck 

Ronald Barbarino 

Jerome Barrow 

Ann Baylog 

Robin Belkin 

Carol Bernal 

Susan Bilchik 

Thomas Bilcze 

Diane Bird 

Kimball Bixenstine 

Rhonda Bogante 

Rick Boldman 

John Brastasn 

Michael G. Bratnick 

Cathy Breckenridge 

Nancy Breeze 

Ellen Brenders 

Sharon Bridges 

Kevin Brody 

Lisa Brosch 

Rick Brouman 

Frank Brown 

Thomas Brown 

Vera Buk 


Cindy Bunfill 
John Burchett 
Christine Burman 
James Burns 
Elaine Burton 

Mark Bussinger 
Donna Campbell 
Angel Capito 
Elizabeth A. Carter 
Frank Cergol 

Dale Chamberlain 
Judie Chekey 
Laura Cianchetti 
Richard Cisler 
Carol Clardy 

Rad Clark 
Michael Clay 
Daniel Cohick 
Barbara Cool 
David N. Copas 

Wendy Corman 
Sue Costantino 
John S. Craig 
Rae F. Craven 
Linda Crew 

Alice Crosetto 
Dean Crossland 
Kenneth Culek 
Pam Davidson 
Jacqueline L. Davis 

Rich Davis 
Lucinda Dean 
Robin S. Dean 
Mary E. Decker 
Paul Deinert 


Kathleen Demcho 

Thomas Deurlein 

Rhonda Dickens 

Gregory Diefenderfer 

Dillon Michael 

Floyd Dixon 
Mark Dodich 

Debi Domin 
Byron Drake 
Stan Drozek 

James D. Dudley 

Dennis D. Duke 

Sharon Dukes 

Claudia Dulmage 
Darrel Dunham 

Timothy Durham 

Marjorie Reisinger Dysle 

Sara Eklund 

Jeannette Ely 

Laurel Eppele 

Gary Eversole 

Dorothy Fair 

Anthony Faison 

Anna Falat 

Antia Farkas 

Rebecca Farris 

April Ferguson 

Andrew Fisher 

Darell Fisher 

RoseMarie Flouherty 

Karen Kaye Floom 

Marilyn E. Flora 

Stephen Frampton 

James France 

Alan Frank 


Mark Fotia 
Thomas John Futch 
Ross Galizio 
Stephen Geisinger 
M. Jalal Ghamrawi 

Ivan Gilmore 
Sheila Glowacki 
Joyce Goldman 
Robert Gonzalez 
Bruce Gordon 

Frances Gorman 
Don Gotch 
Gordon Gowans 
Judi Grace 
Gail Graham 

Mark Grassnig 
Nathan Gray 
John M. Green 
Kevin Greene 
Dennis Griffith 

Linda Grudzinski 
Warren L. Grugle 
Michael Haplin 
Paul Handwerker 
Joyce Hargas 

James Harris 
Sandy Heide 
Jerry Herman 
Steven Herman 
Ruby Hicks 

Patrick Hodge 
William Holden 
Holly Lynn 
Richard Hoopes 
Ann Marie Hotujac 


Virginia Howe 

Patricia Howell 

Rhondia Howell 

Robert Huerster 

Rebecca Hugh 

Carol Hydinger 
Paula Jacobs 

Timothy James 
Jerry Jarema 

Schelie Jerman 

Debra Jesionowski 

Kim Jones 

Peggy Kahles 

Seth Kaplow 

Michael Karp 

Janet Keenan 

Jerry Kennebrew 

Stephen Kilker 

Leslie Kimber 

Mary King 

Paul Kish 

Wayne R. Kittle 

Karen Klyap 

Kenneth Koch 

Denise Kolarik 

Cynthia D. Koller 

Dawn Kolograf 

Christopher Kovell 

Timothy Kremer 

Christine Krisa 

Jim Kucera 

Richard Kuznik 

Mark Kwiatkowski 

Lisa Laitman 

James Lambright 


Charles Landphair 
Karen Lavin 
Paul Lawrence 
William Lecky 
Amy Lee 

Pat Lehtonen 
John Lemire 
Kenneth Leonard 
Ernist J. Lessenger 
Darnita Lesure 

Hedi Lieberman 
Jim Linger 
Elmer Lipp 
Barbara Long 
Martha Love 

Natalie N. Lowe 
Debra McCutchan 
Raymond Mach 
Lawrence Malek 
Patricia Maly 

Gail Markijohn 
Steven Marks 
Wendy Marley 
Bonnie Marron 
William A. Martin 

Beth Marvin 
Terry May 
Paige Mechlin 
Mark Medvetz 
Lawrence Mendel 

Allan Metcalf 
Russell Miars 
Raymond Mihalacki 
Pamela Miller 
Dorothy Mitchell 


Dennis A. Monroe 

Frederick J. Moore 

Penny Moore 

Keith Morgan 

Alan Morris 

Suzanne Morton 

Gail Mudd 

Deborah Newhart 

Cynthia Norris 

Mary P. O'Connor 

Cordelia Ogren 

Mwatabu Okantah 

Thomas Oliphant 

Robert J. Olszak 

Vicki Padjen 

Len Paoletta 

Michael Passalacqua 

Brenda Perkins 

David Perusek 

Phillips Gay 

Jay H. Pike 

Marylee Pittak 

David Poledna 

Andre Portteas 

Michelle Post 

Janet Postle 
Barbara Powell 

Linda Powell 
Richard Profant 
Michael Prokop 

Sam Pronesti 

William Prout 

Leslie Prysock 

John Puch 

Thomas Puderbaugh 


Rosemary Quinn 
Phillip Qurazzo 
Rebecca Radich 
Richard Raymond 
Don Rectenwald 

Cheryl Reed 

Nancy Richey 

Scott Riemenschneider 

Linda E. Roberts 

Joyce Robinson 

Ted Ronau 
Sandra Rose 
Theresa Ross 
Robert Rogers 
Kent Rozel 

Michael Sakowitz 
Karen Sangregorio 
Robert Schaich 
Jean Schantz 
Gary Schecodnic 

Gary Scheimer 
Marilyn Schepps 
William Schlotterer 
Lynn Schmiedel 
Larry Schneiter 

Jack Schnur 
William Schoutz 
Susan T. Schrenk 
Diane E. Schultz 
Linda Schweyer 

David Scott 
Joan Scott 
Dorothy Scribner 
Jaqueline Seiple 
Thomas Sennhenn 


Raymond Sever 

Blayr Sherry 

Gregory Shives 

James Silver 

Kimberly Sims 

Jo Ellen Sindeldecker 

Barbara Slepecky 

Helen Slipec 

Denise Smith 

Marcia Smith 

Mary Smith 

Randall Smith 

William Smith 

Michael C. Snyter 

Deborah Spurling 

Bonnie Spitzkeit 

Ann Stankiewicz 

Maureen Staunton 

Carol Stertenfeld 

Joyce Stokes 

Marianne Strowe 

Gary Strudler 

John Summerville 

David Swirczynski 

Michael Szabo 

Holly Teaman 

George R. A. Terbrack 

James Terez 

Don Theis 

Geri Thompson 

Philip Thompson 

D. Toman 

Maryann Tomasik 

Caroline Tompkins 

Nancy Torok 


Anthony Tranchito 
Gene Tullis 
Mark Tully 
Kathleen Van Camp 
Nancy VanDeusen 

Richard Verk 
Carrie Wagner 
Dale Wagers 
Mary K. Wagner 
Randall Walker 

Valerie Waller 
Christopher Wanca 
Kathleen Warrick 
Mary Jo Watkins 
Sheryl Weber 

Roy C. Weimert 
Susan Weisenburg 
Bennettia F. Wells 
Robert Wiechering 
Thomas Wig 

Duane Wilfong 
Jetf Wilkinson 
Gary Williams 
Gilbert Williams 
Rick P. Williams 

Richard Williger 
Sandra Wilpula 
Philip Winegarner 
Brad Winkleman 
Robert Woofter 

Margaret Yamokoski 
Deborah Yerman 
Susan Yurasko 
Susan Zaborowski 
Ronald Zawacki 


Hulda Zahner 

Todi Zloth 

Joseph Zone 

Kay Zuckerman 

T. A. Valencio 

Business Administration 

James Ackley 
Randy Adkins 

Ken Adler 
Suzanne Ake 

Joan Allen 

William Auld 

Kenneth Baer 

Lynn Balfour 

Michael Barnes 

Jerry Beardsley 

Robert Bell 

Joseph Beltz 

Cliff Bender 


David Berinato 

Keith Berlan 

Daniel Blakley 

Steve Bleich 

Paul Blicher 

Roger Bliss 

Beverly Bohlander 

Carolyn Boor 

Ellen Both 

Terrence Bowdish 

Charles Bremer 


David Bronczek 
Michael Brovman 
Edward Brown 
Geoffrey Brown 
Rebecca Browne 

C. Woody Browne 
Dawn Butcher 
Ralph Cantrell 
Melissa Cardinal 
Joe Carroll 

Thomas Cary 
Jerry Cassidy 
Carlos Calo 
Michael Cesa 
Jennifer M. Church 

Thomas Cihlar 
David P. Clark 
John L. Conlin 
Sfeven Cooper 
Garry Coppers 

Douglas Cross 
Lillie Curry 
Larry Dalpiaz 
Edward Danz 
Charles Darling Jr. 

Mike Dea 
Nicholas DeMilta 
Robert Denny 
T. David Dewey 
Mike Diantonio 

Joy Dingee 
Michael Dolohanty 
Gregory Donohue 
Patrick Dougherty 
Randy Dryden 


Michele Dyar 

Martha Ellis 

Kurt Elsaesser 

Roslyn Enberg 

Charles Esser 

Edward Evanick 

Richard Falkowski 

David Faulkner 

Mary Paula Fedak 

Ralph Felile 

Larry Fiddler 
Fiest Randall 
Paul Fischlin 
Beverly Fitts 
Ronnie Fitzwater 

Pebbi Gaffney 

James W. Gallagher 

Paul Gardner 

Larry Gembicki 

Gary Glinski 

Adam Gockowski 

Craig Gorsuch 

Robert Green 

William Greer 

John Hack 

Mark Hafner 

Philip Hanigosky 

Robert Harris 

Paul Harry 

Mark Hellebrand 

Marc Herman 

Michael Hess 

John B. Hill 

James Hinkel 

Roosevelt Holt 


Wlm^ r i 


Jeff Hootman 
Anthony Hren 
Michael Humphrey 
Gregory Jacoby 
Loralyne Jones 

Mark Jonus 
Marion Jula 
William Kane 
Casmer Karbowica Jr. 
Denise Karrer 

Cindy Katzenberger 
Peter Kazura 
Richard Kearns 
David B. Keener 
John Keeve 

Kevin A. Kelly 
Kevin Kennedy 
Ron Kessinger 
Albert P. Kirksey 
Gregory Klein 

Julian Koch 
E. K. Koos 
Karina Krumins 
Daniel Kuhns 
Marcia Kurzynski 

Cheung Kut 
Gene Lapidus 
Kenneth Laskey 
Ronald Lewayne 
Mark Loudermilk 

Richard Ludwig 
John McAdams 
Harry McCann 
Jeffrey McGuire 
Carl Maar 


Patrick Mahoney 

Gholam Mamoozadeh 

William Maresh 

Susan Marotta 

Hugh Marshall 

William A. Marshall 

Clifford Martin 

Milton Martin 

Robert Mayer 

Paul Menapace 

Buddy Meola 

Michael Messier 

Steven Miner 

Bruce Misko 

Craig W. Mitchell 

Calvin Moore 

Thomas Mraz 

Frank Muratore 

Marian Negrelli 

Joseph B. Noll 

Robert Obee 

Nancy Patrode 

Gary M. Patrek 

William Pattie 

Trudylyn Paul 

John Paulich 

Charles Pavona 

Ray Pelanda 

James Petty 

Thomas A. Pogorelc 

Linda Poropat 

Stephen Postma 

Michael Prochaska 

George Prucha 

Joseph Raddell 

David Raess 
Patrick Rafferty 
Raymond C. Ramsey 
Kathleen Rankin 
Sam Rapczak 

Louis Rendek 
Cindy Richlak 
Jevoy Richlak 
Thomas Rittichier 
Gary Riffle 

George Riley 
Calvin Robinson 
John Rusinkovich 
Robyn Russell 
Bruce Saari 

Robert Sadler 
Vladimer Salva Jr. 
Paul Sanner 
Joseph T. Savelle 
Mark Schlinker 

John Schultz 
Regina Schulz 
Rick Schulz 
Barbara Schwartz 
Barbara Schwartz 

Robert Segal 
James Sekerak 
Glenn Seymour 
Tim Shea 
Thomas Silagy 

Richard Simmons 
Leonard Smallwood 
Archie Smith 
Denis Smith 
Jerry E. Smith 


Timothy Smith 

Gary Soukehik 

Susan Steiner 

James Stephens 

Thomas Stubbins 

Barbara Sverdser 

Christina Sywyj 

Anne Szablowski 

Thomas C. Szollosi 

Benjamin Thomas 

Michael Thomas 

Renee Tramble 

Gary Trinetti 

Patrick Tully 

William Tuzinkiewicz 

Jim Upson 

Mark Urchek 

Nancy Vasko 

Steven Vincent 

Francis Vocca 

Charles Wade 

Frederick Walker 

Thomas Walker 

Jon Wallace 

David Waltz 

Stephen White 

R. William Whittlesey 

Michael Williams 

Scott Wise 

Ellen Wolfensperger 

Victor Wong 

Gary Zwick 

Karen Weiner 

Becky Wells 



Kristine Adamczyk 
Jean Aho 
Dennis Altier 
Jeannette Albano 
Laurel Andrews 

Thomas Andrews 
Kathleen Ansberry 
Bice Antonelli 
Michael Apostalides 
Gerald Arbogast 

Danita Armstrong 
Deborah Ausperk 
Paula Averback 
Vicki Baer 
Mary Bagley 

Sandra Bailey 
Beverly Barile 
Denise Barnhart 
Patricia A. Baughman 
Linda D. Beca 

Beth Bernstein 
Deborah S. Bias 
Katherine Bischoff 
Sharon Blozy 
Donald A. Bobrowicz 

Marcus Boyd 
Susan Jane Brady 
Susan Brehm 
Donna R. Brown 
Gloria Brown 


Shelley A. Brown 

Colleen Brunner 

Patricia Brubaker 

Cathie Bukovinsky 

Lois A. Burke 

Jill Burroughs 

Diane Burton 

Susie Burzanko 

Robin Byrn 

Sally Caldrone 

Joan Callahan 

Joseph Callahan 

Marilyn Chase 

Joan Chesney 

Patricia Chesney 

Carole A. Chulig 

Constance Ciafre 

Ann Marie Clancy 

Sarah Class 

Robert Clouse 

Diane Coe 
Gary Cogan ^ 
Ramona Colvin ^% 
Patricia Conley 
Lydia Cooper 

Terrilyn Copeland 

Jeanne M. Cunningham 

Douglas L. Curtis 

Margaret Dalrymple 

Denise Danes 

Joanna Daniels 

Charlene A. Day 

Joan Deibel 

Patricia Dellick 

Gus DeSouza 


Mary Dohar 
Mary Dowling 
Marsha DuBal 
Deb Dubsky 
Johneita Durant 

Thomas Dureska 
Harriet Y. Elenmss 
Dianne Elie 
Jane Endres 
Pamela Englehaupt 

Judy Ensman 
Marilyn Eppich 
Merrellyn Fessenden 
Pam Fetsko 
_ _ ra z s:a 

Demse Fink 
Marc Fishel 
Demse Floyd 
Gene Folk 

James Foltz 

Debra Fortunato 
Guy Frangipane 
Cheri Freedman 
Brenda J. Friedrich 
Evonn Furbee 

Donna Galbraith 
Roger Galbraith 
Sandra J. Gambaccini 
Alice Garcia 
Jewell Gardner 

Mary Ann Gavula 
Allison M. Gawel 
Christine Gawur 
Rebecca A. Gerken 

Frances Glaeser 


Davetla Gordon 

Gayle Goronkin 

Linda R. Gray 

Diane Green 

Deborah Grindley 

Richard Guthridge 

Robert L. Hannon 

Albert Hanson 

Karen A. Harth 

Kathi Harvey 

Carol Havser 

Peter Haver 

Susan M. Hayes 

Elizabeth Heino 

Alice Henderson 

Susan Herman 

Judy Herzberg 

Connie L. Hisey 

Dan Hoftman 

Sally L. Hofmeister 

Marc Hofstetter 

Barbara Hollister 

Jean Holt 

Carol Holtz 

Susan Hornbeck 

Denise Howard 
Diana Huguley 

William Incorvia 
Marilyn Imhoff 
Darlene Jarrett 

Jack Jedick 

Robert Jellison 

Cindy Jialanella 

Craig A. Johnson 

Douglas Johnson 


Lillian Johnson 
Cheryle Jones 
Luanne Jopko 
Eileen Joseph 
Pete Kaczor 

Patrice Kagy 
Ann Kaminski 
Kathleen R. Kendall 
Katrina L. Kendrick 
Stephen Kerekes 

Sandra Kiddon 
Deborah Killings 
Debra Kinsley 
Debbie Kish 
Katherine Kish 

Diane Klem 
Kathryn Knapp 
Susan Koenig 
Nancy Kondas 
Donald Kopm 

Kathy Kovach 
Patricia Koykka 
Marie Kozak 
Laura Kursh 
Susan Kuttler 

Steve W. Kuyon 
James Lacan 
Anna Lambea 
Alan Landphair 
Nancy Lederman 

Anne Lee 
Nancy Leibold 
Sharon Leidal 
Kirk Lemasters 
Sue Lhota 


Judy Liechty 

Cheryl Limbacher 

Louis Lindic 

Thomas Lindsey 

Lynne Lindquist 

Mary Lonsway 

Eugene Linton 

Carolyn Lookbill 

Julie Lythgoe 

Michael O. McBridee 

Sharon McCullough 

Kathy McGing 

Sandra McGuire 

Karen McMichael 

Colleen McNiece 

Brenda McQueen 

Judith Malinowski 

Susan Marburger 

Pam Marsh 

Debra Martin 

Christine Marks 

Kathleen A. Martin 

Susan Mather 

Beverly May 

Susan Mayernick 

Darline Mayo 

Debra Medas 

John Meluch 

Frank Merendino 

Sherry Metzler 

Simone L. Michals 

John Miller 

Leslie Miller 

Michael Miller 

Pamela Ft. Miller 


Patricia Miller 
Susan T. Miller 
Virginia Miller 
William W. Miller 
Rebecca Monroe 

Michelle Morgan 
Janet Morris 
David Morrow 
Madeline Mortaro 
Diana Morton 

Michael Motil 
Judy Murphy 
Nautambi T. Mwonyony 
Sandra Myers 
Christine Muehlbach 

Theresa Nagel 
David Neal 
Jennifer Neville 
Robin Newton 
Gloria Nicholls 

Margaret Nolan 
Debra Notz 
Karen L. Noussias 
Marilyn O'Brien 
Lisa Oliver 

Susan Oliver 
Diane Olschesky 
Noreen O'Malley 
Susan M. Pack 
Carol A. Pae 

Jocelyn Palmer 
Loraine Palsha 
Russell Patterson 
Maryjane Percival 
Joy Perez 


Richard Perez 

Jeffrey Perls 

Marsha Perry 

Karen A. Petersen 

Michael J. Petite 

James M. Petko 

Randy L. Petkovsek 

Sherri Pickens 

Margaret Pinch 

Judy Plunkett 

Jeanmarie Polisena 

Gayle Procario 

Patricia Quirk 

Rebecca J. Qurazzo 

Mary Raith 

Yvonne Radakovich 

Brianne Randall 

Linda Ranucci 

Daniel Ray 

Rhonda Rees 

Joseph Ress 

Roxanne Riscili 

Michele Roach 

Anna Ribbons 

Carla Robinson 

Thomas Rogers 

Terri Rolik 

Janet Rosenfeld 

Steven Rossa 

Thomas L. Rothmund 

Debbie Roddle 
Clemens Runkowski 

Nancy Russell 
Marianne N. Russell 

Vincetta Russo 


Sandra Rutan 
Debra Sadler 
Lynn Sakowitz 
Beverly Sanford 
Suzanne Saphos 

Joseph Sarconl 
Iris Scott 
Steven Senor 
Susan Shaffer 
Zana Shaheen 

Rita Y. Sharpe 
Georgann M. Shea 
Kim Shear 
Raymond Sheets 
Janet Shively 

Penny J. Sickle 
Marilyn Siegler 
Linda Sigal 
Linda Silness 
Nancy Simerale 

Elizabeth Simon 
April M. Simpson 
Donald Smith 
John Smith 
Katharine Smith 

Kay F. Smith 
Loren E. Smith 
Terry Smith 
Valerie Smith 
Margaret L. Smouse 

Pamela Snipes 
Denise K. Sodo 
Phyllis Spagnvola 
Deborah Specht 
Patricia Spotleson 


Hallie Staffileno 

Mark Stahl 

Amy Stanley 

Paula Stansberry 

Susan A. Stark 

Kathleen Stark 

David Steinhaver 

Terri Stern 

Robert Sutkowy 

Linda Swann 

Joyce Swanwich 

Margaret E. Szabo 

Margaret A. Taylor 

Adriana A. Telishewsky 

Jennifer Temu 

M. L. Temu 

Tod Terveen 

Freda Testa 

Steven Thiel 

Bonnita L. Thomas 

Deborah Thompson 

Cynthia Thorns 

Craig Tice 

Sandy Todd 

Susan Tolt 

Bobette Tosi 

Donna Townsend 

Linda Trotter 

William Turner 

Gaylynn Vara 

Debra Waingar 

William Wajert 

Mary Walsh 

Carol Ware 

Laura Wann 


Elizabeth Wason 
Margaret Watt 
Ronna Weil 
Michael Wengerd 
Karen Werner 

Dennis Whitacre 
Andrea White 
Elizabeth Whitlow 
Debbie Wiggins 
Debra Wilson 

Carla Wimmer 
Susan Witt 
Lynnda Wolf 
Debbie Wood 
Roger Woods 

Ronald Woods 
Clinton Woodward 
Lynne Young 
Valerie Zack 
Jeanette Zawasky 

Health, Physical Education, and Recreation 

Kathy Anderson 
Ronald Ackley Jr. 
Patricia Andrews 
Judy Arko 
Linda Ashburn 

Monica Baskin 
David Bell 
Howard Boehm 
Linda Brennan 
Constance A. Brown 


Jana F. Caplinger 

Nancy J. Casner 

Darlene Chapic 

Laurel B. Coffin 

Dino Colantino 

Kim Conger 

Dale Craddock 

Barbara Davis 

Delmar T. Dayton III 

Jayne A. Degen 

Roscamme Dorko 

Terry Dunlap 

Joy Dnde 

Nancy Enochs 

Jacquelyn Fields 

Harry Foreman 

Inese Freimanis 

James P. Garcia 

Laurie A. Gould 

Richard Gressard 

Shirley Grincewicz 

Denise Halberstadt 

JoAnn Harrall 

Jeanne Harrington 

William D. Harris 

Donna Hartz 

Mary Jo Haw 

Ellen Hearn 

Evelyn Hepp 

Deborah Hickey 

Donald B. Holp 

Billie Hothem 

Pamela Hunter 

Catherine Invorvia 

Patricia Karalic 


Nancy L. Kirkwood 
Barbara Knoefel 
Andrea Knoll 
Mary Kopko 
Jame Krabill 

Diane Kucensky 
Deborah Lower 
Jenny McCombs 
Carol Mahaffey 
Anne Menegay 

Jeff Montgomery 
Debi Mori 
Cahrles Moritz 
M. Judy Myers 
Mark Osgood 

Susan Parsel 
Sybil Petschler 
William Pilati 
Robert Podges 
Louis Pollard 

Carl Portman 
Antoinette Raitano 
Ronald Reid 
Karen Rhodes 
Thomas Sandercock 

Heidi A. Schneider 
Mary E. Seidenwand 
Carolyn Stevenson 
Margaret R. Svetlik 
Mark Turchik 

Hallie Walker 
Nancy Willey 
Katie Winner 
Vicki Yoho 
Joan Zink 


Fine and Professional Arts 

Diane Adrine 

Sonia Alexander 

Christine Ambrose 

Terry Angle 

William Applebaum 

Joseph Ardy 
Shirley Arnold 
Kenneth Bach 
Richard Baker 

Sherry Baker 


Cheryl Banks 


Alycen Barnhard 


Susan Becherer 

Marland Bell 

Rex Bell 


Anne Bellassai 

Ronald Benner 

Christirje Bent 

Stu Bernstein 

Rita Bess 

William Bissinger 

Lisa Bixenstein 

Divid Blewett 

Baraba Boigner 

Debra Bonfiglio 

Jeffrey Boyle 

Kathryn S. Braden 

William Breedon 

Brenda p. Brown 

Richard Brown 


David Bruss 
Gloria Buchholz 
John Buckey 
Clyde E. Burrows 
Faith Burton 

Charlotte Buynak 
John Cahaney 
Paul Calvery 
Tonila Campbell 
David Canan 

Gerome Carr 
Barbara Cesa 
Charles Chandonia 
Wing Chen 
Susan Christy 

Gary Chvatal 
Patricia Cipriano 
Janet Tockerham 
Doreen Cohen 
Susan Cole 

Robert Coletta 
Linda Cox 
Nancy Cox 
Joel T. Crimaldi 
Christine Crites 

Richard Crouse 
Annette M. Dagil 
Debbie D'Amico 
David Victoria 
Deborah Davis 

Kathleen Davis 
Marie Davis 
Pam Davis 
Coral Dean 
Nancy Deeks 


Arnold S. Dengler 

George Desantis Jr. 

Eric Desetti 

Sue DiBattista 

Catherine Dicob 

Joseph Difeo 

Anita DiFranco 

Carol Docherty 

Betsy Doheny 

Michael Donovan 

Janice Downie 

David C. Dubelle 

Don Duffy 

Jean Duplaga 

Mark K. Durbin 

Jamie Eagon 
J. Keith Einstein 

Denis Ellidtt 
Marihelen Ertel 

Joan Evans 

Rebecca Eville 

Gayle Fedyk 

Melanie H. Feeman 

Alexandra Ferguson 

Wayne Ferguson 

Dean Ferrell 

Beryl J. Fisher 

Gary Forster 

Rosmarie T. Fox 

William Fox 

Peggie Frack 
Marjorie Frank 

Fran Franklin 
Deborah Foster 
Cindy Friedman 


Alan Fuchsman 
Susan Gabrielson 
Coustantine Galas 
Robert Garrett 
Constance J. Gazdik 

Roy Geer 
John George 
Susan L. Gillum 
John Gishbaugher 
Charmaine Globaker 

Diane Godzisz 
Richard Goebel 
Andrea Goodman 
Tina Goynes 
Paul Grant 

William Green 

Steven Greenfield 

Shirle Gribble 

Valerie Ann Capezuto-Griggs 

Graig Griffin 

Carol Guinter 
John Guzan 
Patricia Hained 
Gary Hall 
Hazel Hammond 

Thomas Haneline 
Dana Hanscel 
Patricia Harris 
David Harsh 
Earnest Hayes 

Kirk Heaton 
Nancy Hegal 
Penny Heinlein 
Thomas Hemingway 
Donna Henderson 


Edward Herman 

Vickie Hershberger 

Robert Hirsh 

Robert Hiles 

Richard Hlabse 

Ruth Ann Hoppert 

James Hornyak 

Linda House 

Keith Hoynacke 

Martha Hromco 

Alexander Hudson 

Tom Hudson 

Nancy L. Husted 

James Janda 

Myra Jaremko 

Joan JirouseK 

Rob Johnson 

Tom C. Johnson 

Delores Jones 
Robert Jones 

Daniel Julian 

Holly Kadet 

Susan Karoly 

Edward Kaufmann 

Patricia Kelley 

William Kempel 

Thomas Kenen 

Kathleen Kiddon 

Patrick Killen 

Thea Kiminas 

Laura Kimmelman 
Jeffrey Kingsbury 

William Kinney 
Mavi Koewig 

Philip M. Koepf 


Gary Kolopailo 
Steven Kordalski 
Ronald Kovach 
Stephen Kovack 
Dave Kovacs 

David Krajec 
Ralph R. Krall 
Janet Krause 
Janelle Kronenthal 
Rosemary Kubera 

Jean Kuhn 
Richard W. Kutnick 
Dennis Labis 
Douglas Lanese 
Gabriel Laubacher 

Daniel Lawrence 
Robert Lebzelter 
Douglas Leopold 
Karen Lewis 
Sara Lombard 

David Longo 
David Lorkowski 
Sharon Love 
Ginny Lucks 
Karen McClelland 

Ronald McClurg 
John McCown 
Susan McDanel 
Dennis McGrady 
Kristine McLaughlin 

Lawrence McNamara 
Marylyn Mabins 
Nori Mahoney 
Patricia Mahoney 
Thomas J. Maistros 


Johanna Malik 

Smit Manomai-Udom 

Marilynn Marchione 

Martin Michael 

Laura H. Maynor 

Douglas Mean 

Mary Means 

Barbara Medeiros 

Stephen L. Meek 

Allen Meeker 

Jack Metcalf 

John Metzger 

Lee J. Metzger 

Barbara Miller 

Barbara L. Miller 

Jairo Miller 

Karen Miller 

Philip Miller 

Kimberlee Mirto 

Jeffrey Moats 

John Mombery 

Gery Monaco 

Julie Morales 

William Moushey 

Susan Murcko 

Ibrahim Naeem 

Henry J. Nenty 

Daniel Nienaltowski 

Art Nittskoff 

Edward Norwood 

Colleen O'Brien 

Robin Olsen 

Robert Ondishko 

Jacklyn O'Neil 

Daniel Opalenik 


Vicki Orsburn 
Paul Osickey 
Carl Ostanek 
Virginia Pastor 
Deborah Peck 

Emmanuel R. Peoples 
Stephanie Peterson 
Steve Pirn 
Jess Piszczor 
Laura Pokorny 

Jeffrey Price 
Joan Procaccio 
John T. Radgowski 
Cynthia Raffath 
Sheryl Ragan 

Karla Rahm 
James Ramey 
Lawrence Rembowski 
Al Richardson 
Gladys Richardson 

Jackie Richardson 
Pamela Rippeth 
Paul M. Rodak 
Richard Rofsky 
Terry Rotter 

Herman Rubin 
Ousan M. Ruzicka 
Matthew Sahlman 
Barbara A. Salak 
Wobert Scharp 

Scott Scherr 
Vndrew Schmid 
Richard Schulman 
Richard Seale 
Ron Seastead 


Pamela Selzer 

Barbara Sesock 

Ronald Seuffert 

Virginia Shetler 

Gary Shimko 

Lee Short 

Edward Shumovich 

Madelyn Simon 

Lesley Simons 

David Szifko 

Larry Small 
David Smith 
Linda Smith 

Robert Smith Jr. 

Robert S. Smith 

Cathy Snyder 

Elyse Sosin 

Irene Sottosanti 

Elaine Stana 

Susan Stanco 

Sheryl Steingart 
Liz Stolkowski 

JoAnne Sturiale 
Hugh Sullivan 

Candace Sveda 

David Swartzlander 

William C. Swensson 

Ed Szari 

Alan Azymanski 

Janet L. Taylor 

John Teeple 

Lee Thompson 

Sherry Thompson 

Laurie Thomson 

Mark Titus 

F^ £lf 



James Tolley 
Lee Tschauder 
Barry Tuttle 
Richard Twist 
Patricia Tyler 

Leslie Uhren 
Joseph A. Valencic 
Joseph Vargo 
Christopher Vasco 
Joseph Vazquez 

David Verbonitz 
Zina Vishnevsky 
Joseph Vitale 
Nina Marie Votolato 
Cynthia Vrsansky 

Patti Vannicelli 
Louis Wagne 
Hamlet Wallace 
Edwin Wallover 
Susan Ward 

Mary Warner 
Patrice Watson 
Joanna Wheeler 
Anita White 
Rosemary White 

Michael Whitmore 
Debra Wise 
Susan Wohlstein 
Lee Wohlwerth 
David Wolf 

Rory Wolff 
Steven G. Wrigat 
Sandra Yomboro 
Jeffrey Zanders 
Mark Zartman 


School of Nursing 

Susan Anderson 

Edwina Arrich 

Patricia Bailer 

Carol Bausone 

Holly Berchin 

Donna Boykin 
Nancy Bradley 

Anne Brentin 

Mary A. Carter 

Mary Clark 

Pat Clemens 
Diane K. Collins 

Susan Conard 
Tawna Cooksey 

Marion Croyle 

Christina Crummel 

Glenna Dearth 

Mary Ann Delduchetto 

Patricia A. Douglass 

Barbara Finnick 

Debbrah Gizzard 

Karen Gum 

Megan Heller 

Julie Johnson 

Robin Johnson 

Karen Keener 

Joanne Kiebane 

Harriet Kozlowski 

Janice Kreizwald 

Janis Laule 


P. J. Loveland 
Kathleen McClelland 
Deborah McCommons 
Linda McKenzie 
Janice Mahlig 

Cynthia Morgan 
Karen S. Morgan 
Marjorie Myers 
Maureen Neary 
Sister Barbara Noble 

Lee Manning 
Mary Martin 
Shirley Matula 
Teryl Meyer 
Patricia Monasse 

Susan Okragley 
James Oliver 
Barbara Princic 
Christine Prospal 
Anne Prusak 

Lesli Puchan 
Beverly Reed 
Debra Rochowicz 
Rosemary Ryan 
Susan Schott 

Carol Shinsky 
Cynthia Steele 
Claudia Stotter 
Deborah Sulek 
Christine Sulin 

Diane Taczak 
Anne H. Thomason 
Nancy L. Tramba 
Jeanette Weeks 
James Zick 



April 1975 

The Pentagon announces 700 Marines have been 
sent to protect U.S. Navy ships evacuating civilian 
refugees from Vietnam. 

The newly formed Kent Acting and Touring Company 
debuts in the Newman Center with "Godspell." 

Ohio House Bill 565 would ban the sale of alcoholic 
beverages on all state campuses. Later sidetracked 
in committee. 

26 A Greek bathtub pull nets $1 ,000 for the March of 

27 America in concert. 

28 Dr. Howard Vincent, professor of English, describes 
the creative process of Herman Melville, author of 
Moby Dick, as part of a week-long creative whale 

6 Ralph Schoenman, investigator of possible govern- 
ment involvement in murders of prominent political 
figures, presents a mixed media production, "Assas- 
sination: From Dallas to Watergate — Blood on their 

11 Rep. Morris Udall, D-Ariz., speaks. 

Tamar Avidar, editor and columnist for Maariv, Is- 
rael's largest newspaper, speaks at Hillel House. 

16 About $780 million in U.S. -supplied military equip- 
ment was lost or destroyed in the retreat of South 
Vietnamese troops, the Pentagon announces. 

17 Khmer Rouge insurgents penetrate Cambodia's capi- 
tal, Phnom Penh. 

19 The Creative Arts Festival opens with "Feelin' Good," 
presented by the National Theatre Company in the 

21 Nguyen Van Thieu resigns as President of South 

Philip Leonian, photographer, lectures for Creative 
Arts Festival. 

22 Five students are elected to Student Caucus: Nancy 
Grim, Randy Abraham, Lou Pendleton, Gloria Hinske 
and Michael Tewell. 

Philip Leonian, photographer, lectures for the Crea- 
tive Arts Festival. 

Kent Acting and Touring Company presents "God- 
spell" on the staircase at the Student Center for the 
Creative Arts Festival. 

Screen writer and director Jim Bridges, of "Paper 
Chase" fame, holds workshop for Creative Arts Festi- 

Pat Pace in concert. 

The Rev. William Sloane Coffin decries the "unpro- 
ductive notalgia" saturating the public in his "Patri- 
ots Day" address. 

23 The Rev. William Sloane Coffin calls for immediate 
economic and social changes at a Kent bicentennial 

24 Kent State Public Interest Research Group begins a 
petition campaign to assess each student $2 for 
consumer research. 

Scott Bartlett, experimental filmmaker, discusses and 
shows his films for the Creative Arts Festival. 

29 Two U.S. Marines are killed guarding an entrance to 
the U.S. defense attache's office at Tan Son Nhut, 
South Vietnam. 

Work begins to dismantle and move the fire-damaged 
Smithson earth sculpture. 

30 South Vietnamese President Duong Van "Big" Minh 
announces an unconditional surrender to the Viet 
Cong. Saigon is renamed Ho Chi Minh City. 

Top, Gymnastics in Motion, April 26, bottom, Rev William Sloane Coffin. 


May 1975 

1 "Petrified Forest," which depicts the Depression, 
opens in G. Harry Wright Theatre in Rockwell Hall. 

2 May 4 memorial plaque stolen May 3, 1974, is found 
pierced by bullet holes. 

3 Arthur Krause, Michelle Klein, Peter Davies and Dr. 
Jerry Lewis lead the candlelight vigil for slain stu- 

Eagles in concert. 

21 Black United Students observes its seventh anniver- 
sary at KSU. 

Kent City Council votes 6-3 to override Mayor Joseph 
Sorboro's veto of Portage Area Regional Transit Au- 
thority. Next step is a feasability study. 

22-24 Beyond the Womb, a women's fine arts festival, fea- 
tures poet-author Louise Bernikow. 

Top, "What's a Nice Country Like You Doing in a State Like This?" directed 
by Tom Shaker, May 14; bottom, Cindy Kurman. outstanding senior woman, 
clowns during Campus Week activities 

4 The Rev. Daniel Berrigan, Elizabeth McAllister and 
former Sen. Eugene McCarthy speak at memorial 

Folksinger Kathy Kahn, Daniel Berrigan, Yippies, 
Elizabeth McAllister, Steve Cagan, Tom Grace, Bob 
Mayer, Gary Staiger, Chic Ucci, Mike White, Mary 
DuShane, Holmes Brown, Dr. Michael Lunine, Igal 
Rodenko and Ralph Schoenman participate in rallies 
and workshops. The Rev. Ogden White and Rabbi 
Gerald Turk hold memorial religious services. 

7 Kent City Council approves creation of the Portage 
Area Regional Transit Authority. 

8 Richard Woollams is chosen executive secretary of 
Student Caucus by caucus. 

The Board of Trustees approves a rate hike for 
dorms and Allerton Apartments effective fall quarter 

10-18 Campus Week Activities. 

10 Stokely Carmichael asks blacks here to strive for 

11 Linda Ronstadt in concert. 





The student activities fee Allocations Committee an- 
nounces 1975-76 appropriations to student groups. 
The U.S. merchant ship Mayaguez is seized by Cam- 
bodians. President Ford dispatches 150 Marines to 
Thailand in a show of force to persuade Cambodia to 
release the Mayaguez and crew. 
U.S. Sen. Walter Mondale speaks here, urging recov- 
ery of the Mayaguez through peaceful channels. 
Kent Mayor Joseph Sorboro vetoes Portage Area 
Regional Transit Authority for the second time in 14 

Cambodians surrender the Mayaguez and crew as 
U.S. fighter-bombers attack a Cambodian mainland 

"The Hot L Baltimore' 

opens in E. Turner Stump 

Jury selection begins in the 14 civil damage suits 
stemming from the May 4, 1970 shootings here. 

July 1975 

Board of Trustees grants President Glenn Olds a 
$5,000 per year raise, bringing his wages to $51,500 
a year. 

Kent Hall, Lowry Hall, Merrill Hall, Moulton Hall and 
the Administration Building are added to the register 
of historic places by the National Park Service. 

August 1975 

13 A heavy rain and wind storm heavily damages city 
and university trees and buildings. 

18 Silas Ashley, former president of Black United Stu- 
dents, is sentenced to 60 days in Portage County Jail 
and three years probation after pleading guilty to 
theft of university funds. Ashley is a June 1974 grad- 

25 Verdict returned for the defendants in a $46 million 
civil damage suit brought by wounded and parents of 
four students killed here May 4, 1970 by National 
Guardsmen, Defendants included Sylvester DelCorso, 
former adjutant general for the Guard; Gov. James A. 
Rhodes; Robert I. White, former KSU president, and 
27 others. 

w *yW* '.V 


September 1975 


Patty Hearst, Paul and Emily Harris, and Wendy 
Yoshimura are arrested by the FBI in San Francisco. 
Yoshimura is charged with a bombing and the other 
three are accused of a variety of charges including 
bank robbery and kidnaping. 

24 Full dormitory capacity is reached for the first time in 
six years. 
Fleetwood Mac in concert. 

26 Provost Dr. John Snyder announces "The Plan," for 
KSU to meet an anticipated drop in enrollment by the 
1980s, including a $15 tuition hike and faculty cuts. 



Top, Dr. John Snyder announced "The Plan"; bottom left, a hot air balloon at 
the first home football game; bottom right, blasting out of the sandtrap at the 
KSU golf course. 


October 1975 

2 "Born Yesterday" opens at Stump Theatre after a 
successful summer run at Blossom Center's Por- 
thouse Theatre. 

7 Holly Near in concert. 

8 Student Caucus initiates a system for allocating stu- 
dent activities fees that would have students vote 
allocations to student groups by voluntarily gridding 

a computer form. If less than 25 per cent of the forms 
are returned, the system would be abandoned and 
the old system of a committee deciding appropria- 
tions would be used. 

9 Student Caucus member Mike Tewell quits after 
caucus fails to pass his bill to advocate student 
involvement in collective bargaining. 

14 Yerevan Chamber Orchestra, performers of Russian 
folk music, in concert. 

16 "The Rimers of Eldritch" opens, initiating a new 
theatre workshop that resulted after experimental 
theatres were moved from Rockwell Hall to accom- 
odate offices of President Olds. 

16 Evangelist Max Lynch and George "Jed" Smock visit. 

19-21 Josh McDowell lectures on Christian issues. 

21 Camille Yarbrough speaks on African literature, mu- 

22 Andy Tasker appointed by Student Caucus to replace 
member Mike Tewell, who resigned. 

Cincinnati Reds win World Series over Boston Red 

23 Chief Sakokwenonkwas talks on American Indian 

24 Jethro Tull in concert for Homecoming. 

25 Dr. Kenneth B. Cummins, Kathleen M. Bayless and 
Dr. Nenon Georgeopoulos are named Distinguished 
Teachers. Cummins is the first two-time winner. 

28 Kent Gay Liberation Front holds its first annual "I 
Cannot Tell a Lie" dance. 

29 Alice did anyway on Alice Doesn't Day, a national 
strike day to draw attention to women's roles. 
Todd Rundgren and Utopia in concert. 

29,30 Faculty votes and approves collective bargaining at 

Top, Josh McDowell, bottom, Chief Sakakwenonkwas. 

30 "The Return of Sgt. Fenshaw" opens at Franklin 
Theatre Workshop. 

31 Spinners in concert for Black Homecoming. 

November 1975 

1 Dr. Robert I. White, former KSU president, retires. 

2 Four women crowned queens at Black United Stu- 
dents Black Homecoming ceremonies. Presented 
were Margo Shamburger, freshman; Karla Frazier, 
sophomore; Verdant Hall, junior and Terri Smith, sen- 

3 William D. Taylor, "father" of KSU's School of Jour- 
nalism and trustee, dies during heart surgery. He was 

4 P. J. O'Rourke, executive editor of National Lam- 
poon, speaks on "New Humor in America." 

Kent voters approve a city manager form of govern- 
ment effective January 1, 1977. John D. Thomas, 
KSU senior, elected to Ward 4 seat. Other winners 
were Dal Hardesty, R-2; Barbara Watson, D-6; John 
Recznik, D-3; Walter Adams, D-5, and Robert C. 
Sullivan, D-5 

13 President Olds asks the Board of Trustees for a $15 
tuition increase effective winter quarter 1976. A sec- 
ond $15 increase would take effect spring quarter. 

13 Ohio Rt. 59 opens, providing access between east 
and west Kent, minus three sets of railroad tracks 
and the Cuyahoga River in the way. 
Justice William O. Douglas retires from the U.S. Su- 
preme Court because of ill health. 
"Inherit the Wind" opens at E. Turner Stump Theatre. 
Trustees approve $15 tuition hike effective winter 
quarter 1976. No additional $15 hike for spring quar- 

17-22 Six days with Bella Lewitzky, dancer and choreogra- 
pher. As artist in residence here, Lewitzky held 
classes, workshops and performed with her com- 

17-21 Disability Week here, to provide an insight to and 
awareness of the handicapped. 

21 Ohio abandons criminal penalties for minor marijuana 
offenses. A maximum $100 fine for possession of up 
to 100 grams (slightly under three ounces) of mari- 
juana. Enforcement will produce no criminal record. 

Total eclipse of the moon, Nov. 18. 


December 1975 

3 Dr. Robert Frumkin, former associate professor of 
counseling and personnel services education, files 
suit against KSU, claiming he was fired in July with- 
out due process of law. He seeks reinstatement, back 
pay and $25,000 damages. 

4 The Water Street Saloon, home of Good Company, 
and the Kent Kove, home to 15-60-75, gutted by fire. 

4-6 Third annual "Olde English Yuletide Feast and Re- 
naissance Revel," presented by KSU Chorale. 

17 Groundbreaking of the Northeastern Ohio Univer- 
sities College of Medicine campus on 57-acre site on 
Ohio Rt. 44 in Rootstown Twp. 

Top, commuters head for home through a heavy snowstorm; bottom, a view 
of the fire-gutted Kove and the Water Street Saloon. 



January 1976 

6 $320,000 netted by university in December after re- 
distribution of state funds still leaves KSU short by 
$900,000 after increased enrollment of 11.2 per cent 
skyrocketed costs. 

8 A tuition hike protest at the Board of Trustees meet- 
ing climaxes in a scuffle between police and protes- 
ters. A campus policeman and four students were 
injured. Trustees offer an open forum for Jan. 21 to 
discuss fee hike. 

Board of Trustees approves, 5-4, faculty collective 
bargaining, recognizing the results of the faculty's 
Oct. 29-30 election choosing the United Faculty Pro- 
fessional Association sole agent. 

Chou En-Lai, premier of the People's Republic of 
China since 1954 creation, dies of cancer at age 78. 

15 President Olds, speaking at the annual National Col- 
legiate Athletic Association convention in St. Louis, 
urges trims in intercollegiate sports spending to limit 
athletic scholarships to only those "in need.'' 
The Vatican condemns sex outside marriage and 
urges a distinction between "transitory" and "incur- 
able" homosexuals. The latter should be "treated 
with understanding." 

19 Commemoration activities for Martin Luther King Day. 

20 Half of Iran's $100,000 bicentennial gift to the United 
States will be granted to KSU to expand the univer- 
sity's educational exchange program with the 
mideast nation. 

21 About 250 students question and debate five Board 
of Trustees members on the $15 tuition hike and 
other problems at an open forum. The meeting is 
preceded by a march from the Student Center at 
University Auditorium. 

Rich Woollams resigns as executive secretary of Stu- 
dent Caucus, citing personal reasons. 

23 Construction temporarily stops at Rockwell Hall, 
where offices were being renovated to accomodate 
presidential and vice-presidential offices. State funds 
were cut earlier in the month when Gov. James A. 
Rhodes ordered the blockage of a $60 million bond 
issue to fund capital improvements at state univer- 
sities. Rhodes ordered the sale blocked until the 
Democratic-controlled state legislature could find 
funds to pay back a $12 million bond debt on the 
State Office Tower. 

27 Student activities fees will again be allocated by a 
nine-member committee after a computer allocation 
plan failed to gather 25 per cent of student ballots. 

Top, heavy snows created problems for those who drove; middle, tuition hike 
protesters march from the Student Center to the University Auditorium to 
discuss university financial problems with Board of Trustees; bottom, 
basketball coach Rex Hughes disagrees with a referee. 


February 1976 

3 Dr. John Snyder announces tentative changes in 
The Plan, including no faculty layoffs and classes 
meeting once weekly or less. 

Daniel P. Moynihan, U.S. ambassador to the United 
Nations, resigns to return to a teaching post at 
Harvard University. 

4 A major earthquake in Central America kills an 
estimated 2,000 persons in Guatemala and causes 
severe damage in several other countries. 

Steve Timinsky resigns as co-chairperson of the 
May 4 Task Force after a letter from several stu- 
dents wounded in 1970 reveals he is not a student. 
Secretary of Transportation William Coleman au- 
thorizes two foreign airlines to offer limited sched- 
uled flights of the Concorde supersonic passenger 
jet into two U.S. airports for 16 months. 

5 The XII Winter Olympic Games open in Innsbruck, 

10 After six and one-half years of separation, econom- 
ics professor Vladimir Simunek and wife are reu- 
nited with their daughter Kveta, who had been held 
by Communists in Czechoslovakia. 
Lockheed Aircraft Corp. reveals it has paid $22 
million in payoffs to foreign officials and business- 
men, touching off an extensive probe. 

9-12 About five percent of the student body votes in the 
Student Caucus referendum on four charter amend- 
ments, including one which would change the time 
of caucus members' election from fall quarter to 
spring quarter. 

12 Terrorists bomb the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, 

16 About 15 members of the KGLF picket the Cleve- 
land Press building to protest the paper's banning 
of the comic strip "Doonesbury," which dealt with a 
gay person "coming out of the closet." 

20 Former President Richard Nixon leaves for Commu- 
nist China, this time to travel as a private citizen. 

20-21 The Ninth Kent Folk Festival. 

23 CBS commentator Daniel Schorr is indefinitely sus- 
pended after admitting he released a secret House 
intelligence report to a weekly newspaper. 

24 Jimmy Carter wins the New Hampshire Democratic 
primary and Gerald Ford narrowly beats Ronald 
Reagan in the Republican primary. 

Mandatory housing for freshmen and sophomores is 
continued for at least another year, the Board of 
Trustees decides. 

Feb. 29 - 

March 7 Black United Students sponsors Think Week to pro- 
mote a better understanding between races. Pro- 
gram includes activist Dick Gregory and poet 
Gwendolyn Brooks. 

March 1976 

2 Unsuccessful attempt made to locate members of 
the Unification Center, a newly formed campus or- 
ganization rumored to be a front for the Unification 
Church. The church reportedly has brainwashed 
and kidnaped prospective members. 

Susan Hughes of Uniontown and the Ohio Ethnic 
Congress have sued the Northeast Ohio College of 
Medicine, asking $100,000 because NEOUCM 
trustees neglected to invite a member of the ortho- 
dox faith to groundbreaking ceremonies at which 
other faiths were represented. 
Dennis Brutus, South African poet, says the United 
States has become more of an ally of racism by its 
involvement in Angola. 

3 President Ford and Sen. Henry Jackson win the 
Massachusetts presidential primary. Ford unop- 
posed in Vermont. 

4 "Moonchildren" opens at Stump Theatre. 
Student Caucus recognizes the United Faculty Pro- 
fessional Association as sole faculty bargaining 
agent here. 

The Unification Center, members still anonymous, 
denies ties with Rev. Sun Myung Moon's con- 
troversial Unification Church. 
Comedienne Lily Tomlin performs here. 

5 Nancy Grim becomes the third elected member to 
resign from Student Caucus. Lou Pendleton and 
Mike Tewell resigned fall quarter. Grim charged 
Caucus was incapable of working cohesively and 
articulating goals as a group to advance student 

6 Poet Gwendolyn Brooks here describes her writing 
as "people's poetry" about fates, furies, flights and 

7 Electric Light Orchestra in concert. 

8 Dick Gregory, political activist and humorist, tells 
students that young white America must change the 
course of this "racist, insane, sexist'' country. 
David Richison, president of the one-member KSU 
chapter of the Unification Center, admits the group 
is part of the controversial Unification Church, a cult 
headed by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, and associ- 
ated with attempting to kidnap and brainwash its 
prospective members. He said the center will end its 
involvement here due to lack of interest. 

11 Elisabeth Libler-Ross, author of "Death and Dying," 

30 An increase of dormitory rates by $10 to $20 per 
quarter and board rates by $10 is approved by the 
Trustees. The dormitory rate increase will fund a 
$150,000 per year capital improvements program. 
Athletic Director Milo (Mike) Lude is named Director 
of Inter-collegiate Athletics at the University of 

"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" wins four 
Academy Awards — best picture; Jack Nicholson, 
best actor; Louise Fletcher, best actress; and Milos 
Forman, best director. 

Sports Scores 

KSU scores are in the left column: opponents are in the right column. 
Scores for women's swimming, tennis, and Softball were not available 

SPRING 1975 

Men's Baseball (12-20, 4-12) 

at Univ of Dallas 

at Univ. of Dallas 

at Texas Wesleyan 

at Texas Wesleyan 

at Abilene Christian 

at Abilene Christian 

Cleveland State 

at Akron 

at Northern Illinois 

at Northern Illinois 

at Cleveland State 

at Ashland 

Bowling Green 

Bowling Green 



at Ohio State 

at Ohio State 

at Miami 

at Miami 

at Ball State 

at Ball State 


Eastern Michigan 

Eastern Michigan 

Central Michigan 

Central Michigan 




at Ohio University 

at Ohio University 

Central Michigan 
Ohio University 
Penn State 

Ohio State 

Slippery Rock 




Ohio Dominican 

Penn State 

Slippery Rock 


Men's Track (4-1) 

Women's Track (5-4) 

Men's Tennis (8-17, 0-9) 

Hardin Simmons 
Texan Wesleyan 
St Mary's 
Texas Southern 
Central Texas 
Austin College 
Grayson College 
Southeastern Oklahoma 













































Bowling Green 
Eastern Michigan 
Western Michigan 
Henry Ford 
Ball State 
Ohio University 
Northern Illinois 
Penn State 
Central Michigan 
Calvin College 
Cleveland State 
























Women's Field Hockey (4-4-3) 




Lake Erie 

Slippery Rock 

Youngstown State 

Lorain County Community College 

Cleveland Field Hockey Association 

Cleveland Field Hockey Association 

Lorain County Community College 

Youngstown State 

FALL 1975 

at Northeast Louisiana 

Virginia Tech 

at Ohio University 

at Northern Illinois 

at Western Michigan 

Bowling Green 

Central Michigan 

at West Virginia 



at Toledo 

at Capital 

Bowling Green 


at Ohio State 

at Akron 



at Lakeland C.C. 

at Ohio University 

Western Michigan 

at Cedarville 



Football (4-7) 

Soccer (6-6-1) 


at Bowling Green 


at Berea (Malone and Baldwin Wallace) 

at Ohio University 

at Penn State 

All-Ohio Meet 


United Nations Invitational 

Central Collegiates (Pa.) 

Mid-American Conference (Mi.) 

NCAA Regionals (In ) 

NCAA Championships (Pa.) 





















































37, 73 





Tied. 1st of 27 



2nd place 


5th of 13 

2nd of 10 

5th of 1 7 



WINTER 1976 

Men's Basketball (12-14, 7-9) 

Northern Illinois 

at Ball State 

at Bowling Green 


at Western Michigan 

Central Michigan 

Eastern Michigan 

at Toledo 

at Ohio 

Ball State 


at Miami 

Western Michigan 

at Central Michigan 

Bowling Green 

at Northern Illinois 


at Bowling Green 

John Carroll 

Ohio Northern 

at Cleveland State 

Ohio University 

at Youngstown 

at Akron 

at Tuscarawas 





Women's Basketball (5-6) 

Wrestling (11-4, 6-2) 

Eastern Michigan 

Northern Kentucky 

Northern Illinois 



Lock Haven 

Ohio University 

Ball State 

Central Michigan 


Bowling Green 

Cleveland State 



Ohio State 

4th place MAC Championships 





Men's Gymnastics (6-4) 

Central Michigan 
Bowling Green 
Ohio State 
Western Michigan 
Eastern Michigan 
Michigan State 
Slippery Rock 

Central Michigan 
Bowling Green 
Ohio State 
Western Michigan 

Women's Gymnastics (10-3) 


























































Eastern Michigan 
Michigan State 
Slippery Rock 

Western Michigan 
Eastern Michigan 
Eastern Kentucky 
Ohio University 
Central Michigan 
Ball State 
Bowling Green 

Michigan State 
Central Michigan 




Cleveland State 

Baldwin Wallace 

John Carroll 


Ohio State 


St. Joseph 


Indiana Purdue 

Indiana Purdue 

Henry Ford College 

University of Michigan 

Denison University 

Miami University 

Miami University 

Ohio University 

Ohio University 

Lake Forest 

Lake Forest 

Cleveland Allstars 

Canisuis College 

Canisuis College 

Cleveland Allstars 

Oakland College 

Oakland College 

Ohio State University 

University of Michigan 

University of Michigan 

Ohio University 

Ohio University 



Lake Forest College 

Lake Forest College 

Miami University 

Miami University 

Henry Ford College 

Henry Ford College 

Carnegie Mellon University 

Downsview Flyers 


93 00 





98 95 



83 15 






Men's Swimming (10-2, 9-0) 

























Women's Volleyball (4-6) 

9-15, 16-14, 15-5, 15-7 
11-13, 15-7, 15-11 
15-7, 15-11 
15-1. 12-10 
13-15, 16-14, 15-9 
15-12. 13-11 
15-10. 15-7 
15-5, 13-15, 15-11 
15-4, 15-10 
15-7, 15-7 

Hockey (26-7) 






































































Alpha Eta Rho (aviation) 

Advertising Group 

American Chemical Society 

American Guild of Organists 

American Home Economics Association 

American Industrial Arts Association 

American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics 

American Institute of Architects 

American Romanian Cultural Studies Group 

Angel Flight 

Anthropology Association 

Archaeological Team 

Arnold Air Society 

Art Union 

Association for Childhood Education 



Coed Cadettes 

Collegiate Marketing Association 

Council for Exceptional Children 

Criminal Justice Association 

DBA. MBA Association 

Distributive Education Clubs 

Drama Club 

Finance Club 

Forensics (Debate) 

Gamma Theta Upsilon (Geography) 

Geological Society 

Golden Wings and Anchors of Northeast Ohio 

Guitar and Stringed Instruments Association 

Home Economics Association 

Kent Music Educators Club 

Married Architectural Student Society 

Performing Dancers 

Pershing Rifles 

Pre-Med Society 

Public Relations Student Society 

Russian Club 

Social Work Organization 

Society of Manufacturing Engineers 

Society of Physics Students 

Society of Professional Journalists 

The Sphinx Society 

Student Bar Association 

Student Educational Association 

Student Nurses Association 

Women in Communications 


Aikido Club 

Amateur Radio Club 

Bhangra Dance Group 

Bicycle Club 

Campus Girl Scouts 

Chess Club 

Fencing Club 

Figure-Skating Club 

Fishing Club 

Flying Club 

Hockey Club Kent State Clippers 

Intramural Program 


Jiu Jitsu 

Karate Club 

Kwan Ying Kempo (Kung Fu) 

Martial Arts Club 

Outdoor Association 

Parachute Club 

Performing Dancers, Kent State 

Recreation Club 

Rock Climbing Club 

Rugby Football Club 

Sailing Club 

Scuba Club 

Ski Club 


Sports Car Club 

Table Tennis Club 

Tae Kwan Do Karate 

University 4-H Club 

Wheelchair Athletic Club 

Wha Rang Society of Karate 

Women's Recreation Association 

Yoga Club 

Yudo Kwan (Judo) 


Chestnut Burr — yearbook 
Daily Kent Stater — newspaper 
Human Issue 
The New Kent Quarterly 
WKSU - radio and TV 


Art Graduate Students 

Association of Graduate English Students 


Black Graduate Student Association 

Department of Biological Sciences Graduate Student Council 

Graduate Association of Students in Psychology 

Graduate Economics Association 

Graduate Educators Student Association 

Graduate Association of HP E R 

Graduate Public Administration Association 

Graduate Student Association of Technology 

Graduate Student Council 

Graduate Student Organization of Chemistry 

Graduate Student Organization of Rhetoric and Communication 

Graduate Students in Philosophy 

Graduate Students in Sociology and Anthropology 

Graduate Students in Speech 

Graduate Urban Design Studio 

History Graduate Student Organization 

Home Economics Graduate Student Organization 

Journalism Graduate Student Organization 

Music Graduate Students 

Organization of Germanic and Slavic Languages Graduate Studies 

Political Science Graduate Student Association 

Speech Department Graduate Students Organization 


African Students Association 

Ambassador International Cultural Foundations 

Arab Students Association 

Chinese Students Association 

India Students Association 

Iranian Student Club 

Lithuanian Student Organization 


All- Americans 

American Indian Rights Association 

Attica Brigade 

Campaign for a Democratic Foreign Policy 

Commission to Investigate the Kennedy Assassinations 


Committee to End Pay Toilets in America (CEPTIA) 

Environmental Conservation Organization 


Indochina Peace Campaign 

Joe Hill Collective 

Kent Democrats 

Kent Gay Liberation Front 

Kent Women's Action Collective 

National Organization for Reformation of Marijuana Laws 

Public Interest Research Group 

Plant Lovers United of Kent 

Rape Crisis Project 

Revolutionary Student Brigade 

Socialist Educational Forum 

Sparticus Youth League 

Student Rights Action Lobby 

Student Union 

Students for a Decent Education 

United Farmworkers Support Group 

University Theatre 

Vegeterian Group 

Vietnam Veterans Against the War / Winter Soldier Organization 

Young Republicans 


All Campus Programming Board 

Art Gallery 

Artist-Lecture Series 


Elite Ebony Soul 

Inter-Creek Council 

International Film Society 

Society for Creative Anachronism 

TM Action Club 

Tuesday Cinema Film Society 

Student Speaker's Bureau 


Association for Research and Enlightenment 



Campus Crusade for Christ 

Campus Outreach 

Christian Fellowship 


Fellowship of Christian Athletes 

Hillel-Jewish Student Center 

Intervarsity Christian Fellowship 

Jewish Student Lobby 

Hatha Yoga 

Jehovah's Witnesses 

Kappa Phi 

Krishna Yoga Society 


Newman Student Parish 

Pyramid Zen 

Students International Meditation Society 

Tree of Life 

United Christian Ministries 

Well Springs of Torah 


Black United Students 

Commuter and Off-Campus Student Organization 

Graduate Student Council 

Inter-Greek Council 

Kent interhall Council 

Kent Internationals 

Student Government 


Alternative Lifestyles Group 

Circle K 


Consumer's Health Care Association 

Council on International Relations and United Nations Affairs 

Day Care Center 

KSU Family Planning 

Pregnancy Information Center 

Student Legal Referral Program 

Students for Mobility 

Student Tenant Association of Kent (STAK) 

Students Ticked About Book Prices (STAB) 

Undergraduate Alumni Association 

Townhall II — Helpline 

Veterans' Association 

Volunteer Services 



Alpha Phi Alpha 

Alpha Tau Omega 

Delta Tau Delta 

Delta Upsilon Kappa Alpha Psi 

Kappa Sigma 

Omega Psi Phi 

Phi Beta Sigma 

Phi Gamma Delta 

Phi Kappa Psi 

Phi Sigma Kappa 

Sigma Alpha Epsilon 

Sigma Chi 

Sigma Phi Epsilon 

Sigma Tau Gamma 


Alpha Kappa Alpha 
Alpha Gamma Delta 
Alpha Phi 
Alpha Xi Deltz 
Chi Omega 
Delta Gamma 
Delta Sigma Theta 
Delta Zeta 
Zeta Phi Beta 


Alpha Kappa Delta 

Alpha Lambda Delta 

Alpha Omicron Chi 

Alpha Psi Omega 

Beta Beta Beta 

Blu Key 

Cardinal Key 

Delta Omicron 

Delta Phi Alphe, Gamma Upsilon Chapter 

Epsilon Nu Gamma 

Epsilon Pi Tau 

Kappa Delta Pi 

Kappa Kappa Psi 

Kappa Omicron Phi 

Mortar Board 

Omicron Delta Kappa 

Phi Alpha Theta 

Phi Delta Kappa 

Phi Epsilon Kappa 

Phi Gamma Nu 

Pi Delta Phi 

Pi Omega Pi 

Pi Sigma Alpha 

Psi Chi 

Sigma Delta Pi 

Sigma Gamma Epsilon 

Tau Beta Sigma 


Chestnut Burr Staff 


Susan Murcko, co-editor 

Tom Hudson, co-editor 

Susan Recklies, copy editor 

Matt Bulvony, photo assignment editor 

Bill Swensson and Cherie Banks, art directors 

Thorn Warren, production editor 

Jack Radgowski, picture editor 



C. Woody Browne, business manager 

■■■III ^ -i- 

Bill Bart, ass't. business manager 

Arlene Pete, typist 

Anne McClellan, advertising 

Charles Brill, adviser 

Staff photographers 

Lee Ball 

William Green 


» i 

Joe Stenger 

Terry Grande 

Mark Theken 

^>_& i^j 


Hp *^J 


^^^V ^^^P*i -Wl 


v / 



Leon Williams 

Stu Bernstein 

Staff writers 

Ron Kovach 

Laura Nagy 


Christine Bent 

Matthew Flanagan 

Scott Carr 

>4 W*J*Nte*££ 

William Moushey 


Parting shots 


se they planned an antiwar demonstration and the war ended? No one but the media showed up. 


Left, a Mr. Bullchett on the sidelines at the faculty vs. varsity and women 
wrestlers game; right, KSU Jaws. 






This page, top, passing the bucket in the Student Center fountain; bottom, a 
physical education class in chute-sledding, opposite page, members of the 
KSU Veterans Club eye a go-go dancer at a Kent bar. 



jjjg* fy 

M toff . . * „ „*, 

*^^ ; v^ 

n x «i; 


'} is f of ii 




This page, top, is this player yelling for help or catching flies during 

intramural volleyball? Bottom, track coach Doug Raymond (84) is 

running from a shovelful being thrown by baseball coach Art Welch, at 

a charity Donkey Basketball game; opposite page, a Delta Tau Delta 

brother is being shown to the door by a fellow brother. 


' ' 




tit .. 

This page, all in a Greek Week; opposite page, a big job for a little saw. 



- ■ 


The intersection ot Main and Lincoln Streets, 1935 and 1976. 

Photo credits 

Photo stories by one photographer are bylined. Joint efforts 
are credited below by page, from top left to top right, bottom 
left to bottom right. 

DIANE ADRINE: 14a; 144b 


LEE BALL: 54a; 82a; 145b; 179a; 180a; 182a; 183a; 280b 

STU BERNSTEIN: 16b, c,e; 86d; 108b, c; 110a, b; 111a,b,c; 

MATT BULVONY: 6a; 7a; 9a; 12a; 13b; 15a; 17b; 18b,c; 32a 
33a; 48e; 52a,b; 53b; 54b; 55a; 57a; 58b; 59a,b; 63b; 71b,c 
76a; 77b, c; 78a; 79a,b; 81a; 85a; 86a; 117a,b,c; 141b 
151a; 154a,b; 165a; 170a; 171b; 172b; 177d; 198a,b; 209a 
212b; 215b; 226a,b; 277b; 278b,c; 279b, c; 282a, b; 283b 

PAUL DAVIS: 140b; 141a; 233a; 298a 

JEFF DAY: 10a; 14e; 15c; 16d 


KEVIN FOX: 199b; 200a; 226b 

TERRY GRANDE: 8b, c; 130a; 147a; 152a; 162a; 177a, b,c; 
207a, b; 210a,b; 213a,b; 214b, c; 215a,c; 226a; 227a; 230a, b 

WILLIAM GREEN: 15d; 19a; 33b; 37b; 58c; 70a; 71a; 79a,b; 
80a; 82b; 84c; 87a; 153b; 164a,b; 165b; 166a,b; 167a; 
212a,c; 217a; 277a; 278a 

DEAN HINE: 171c; 173a; 194b 



ALAN KEICHER: 53a; 55b; 56b; 57c; 116a,b,c; 199a; 299a 

DAN LAITY: 62a; 63a 

TOM LEOPOLD: 16a; 223a; 298b 


PHIL LONG: 279a 



DOUG MEAD: 131c; 228a; 276b 

ANDY MURRAY: 12b; 121a, b,c 

WESLEY NICHOLSON: 57b; 150a, b; 187a; 190a; 191b 


SUE OGROCKI: 199c; 200b; 276a; 280a 

JACK RADGOWSKI: 9b; 11a; 12d; 13c, d; 14b; 15b; 48a,b,c,d 
49a,b,c,d,e; 58a; 74a; 75a; 77a; 78a; 83a; 84a,b; 86b, c 
131a; 145a,c; 147b; 149a, b,c; 186a; 188a; 189a,b,c 
190a,b,c; 191a,c; 192a; 193a,b,c,d; 194a, c,d; 195a; 218a,b 
220a; 221 a,b; 222a,b; 223a, b; 224a; 225a; 300a 


JOE STENGER: 11c; 12e; 17a; 36b; 37a; 119b; 120a, b,c 
163a,b; 172a; 196a; 197a,b; 199d; 201a; 202a,b,c; 204a,b 
205a,b,c,d; 206a, b,c; 208a, b; 211a; 213c; 214a; 216a,b 
228b; 229a; 283a 


MARK THEKEN: 11b; 14c; 91a, b; 94a; 118a,b,c; 119a, c; 
219a, b 

UNIVERSITY NEWS SERVICE: 159a; 220b; 221c; 224b; 225b; 
226c; 227b; 228b; 229a; 231b; 232b 


THOM WARREN: 8a; 12c; 13a,e; 14d; 17c; 18a; 108a; 109a; 
130b; 131b; 140a; 147a; 148a; 152b; 203a,b,c; 219c; 294a; 

DARRELL WHITE: 56a; 295a 

DAN YOUNG: 90a; 92a,b; 93a,b; 95a; 231a; 232a; 283c